


A Lesson in Arithmancy

by brullaffe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2018-08-23 21:03:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8342626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brullaffe/pseuds/brullaffe
Summary: Draco scowled. “What are you doing, mate? She’s a--”“A mudblood?” Blaise cut in. “You still believe that? You’re still so sure?”





	1. September

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first work, still a bit in progress. Enjoy.

_4 September_

She was late.

Well she wasn't quite late yet, but, by her standards, she was late.

Hermione bustled into the Arithmancy classroom in a frenzy. She’d never been late her first day to a class, and as the newest Gryffindor prefect she wasn’t about to start the trend now.  

Glancing around the full room, her heart quickly fell discovering only two remaining seats, and neither in good company.

Marcus Flint sat near the back an open chair beside him, which were it anyone else she would have suffered the poor spot. But with Marcus Hermione recognized the danger of a place so out of sight. He could almost do anything and Professor Vector, so far from the back, would be none the wiser.

Still, it wasn’t much better than the second choice.

Blaise Zabini sat closer to the middle of the room. He on his own had never actually done anything to her. In fact, they'd never even so much as shared a sentence. It was his close company that made her falter.

It appeared the quiet boy had merely drawn the shorter stick as in front of him sat Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott. They, unlike Blaise, had always made their distaste of her known.

Hermione took a big breath, doing one last rove over the classroom in feeble attempt for any other option, before making the choice she hoped was the safer one.

If looks could kill Hermione would have died a hundred times. All three boys stared, along with nearly the rest of the class, with mixed expressions of appall and fury.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” came Draco’s harsh sneer as Hermione pulled out the seat to Blaise's left. Hermione returned his disgust with the best glare she had.

“Oh I don't know, just thought I'd try my hand at inter house unity,” she said sarcastically, taking the needed materials from her bag. Honestly, did he think she wanted to sit near him?

“The hell you’re sitting here,” Theo growled.

Hermione sighed looking up at the lean and angry boy. “There aren’t any other spots,” she muttered, trying to attend his reasonability. She doubted it was possible amongst this group, but still, it wasn’t as if she had any better options.

Besides, Hermione silently reasoned, she was more visible in this spot if the many eyes now on that corner were something to go by.

“Not our problem, mudblood,” Draco spat, “get lost.”

As if this was somehow the only encouragement Hermione had needed, she turned to the blond Slytherin with eyes suddenly fiery in her resolve. “Too bad, Malfoy.” And with that she dumped her books on the desk and defiantly plonked into the chair.

Blaise shot to his feet.

“Did you need something Mr. Zabini,” came the disciplinarian voice of Professor Vector from the doorway quieting the room for the start of the lesson.

The Slytherin took in a slow breath, his fists tightening to whitened knuckles at his sides. “Nothing professor,” he hissed.

“Then please sit, class has begun.”

Nearly no one paid attention to the lesson, the whole class more attuned to the high tension coming from the Slytherin corner.

Murmurs of mudblood and filth drifted from the table behind Hermione where Adrian Pucey and another Slytherin Hermione did not know sat. Seamus and Katie kept shooting back worried glances from a table at the front while Draco had turned completely in his chair, eyes boring into her angrily. Nott scowled from the side. Blaise at least had the decency to glare at the board in a horrible farce to appear invested in the class.

Only Hermione was actually paying attention, her quill scribbling furiously over her notes as she dutifully wrote down Vector’s lesson word for word.

“Know it all,” Draco muttered shooting Hermione a dirty look.

Her quill paused only momentarily before picking up speed again.

“Mudblood,” he hissed instead, as though hoping to get a rise.

Her eyes found his briefly. “And yet my marks are better than yours.”

Anger flashed across his sharp face, but Hermione didn't see as she once again returned to taking notes.

Finally, after what felt to some like an eternity, class ended.

“We will continue this discussion next lesson,” Professor Vector said from the front. “And I certainly hope everyone made a good choice in their spots,” she shot a stern look to the Slytherin corner, “because it will be your seat for the rest of first term.”

“Fuck,” came Blaise’s voice just before he swept from the table.

Hermione scowled at her books. This was not her year.

 

_6 September_

Hermione walked into the Arithmancy room the following Friday to find her table partner helplessly petitioning Professor Vector for a seat change.

“Professor,” Blaise implored softly, almost desperately. “It's a very distracting spot.”

“Then you shouldn't have sat there.”

“She sat next to me,” he argued angrily.

“Mr. Zabini. This sounds like nothing more than all that silly house rivalry nonsense, and quite frankly, there's no time for that in my classroom.”

“I understand how it may seem, professor, but I promise it is not that. If you would--”

“Now this is quite enough Mr. Zabini,” Professor Vector snapped as the class was almost full. “It is one semester, and I'm sure you can handle yourself. Come spring term, if you still so wish it, you're more than welcome to change your seat.”

“But professor--”

“I said enough.”

Blaise, realizing his loss, turned and moved back to the table where the lone Gryffindor now sat. Hermione kept her head down as the Italian boy slumped in the seat beside her, knocking her slightly on the way. She knew how to pick her battles, and this one was not worth it.

She settled her things instead.

 

_11 September_

“How's Arithmancy going?” Ginny asked as Hermione met her friends in the Great Hall for lunch.

Hermione scowled tossing her bag to the ground carelessly. Ginny frowned.

“That bad?”

“You've no idea,” Hermione confided. “They’re either calling me names or messing with my things. It's an exercise just to focus.”

“Yoo cudf hex ‘em,” Ron offered around a spoonful of mash.

Hermione rolled her eyes. He was always quick to the attack. “And earn a detention with the _High Inquisitor_ for illegal use of magic?”

Ron frowned, spooning another bite.

“There's always Divination,” Harry offered offhandedly. He grinned at Hermione's look of appall.

In Hermione’s book, even Draco Malfoy, in all his snobby rudeness, was still better than dealing with Trelawney.

“No,” she affirmed. “I can handle those snakes. I just wish they'd find better material. I mean honestly, you'd think after four years of the same lines they'd be tired of it all by now.”

Hermione stalled in her tirade catching sight of her unfortunate table partner walking by. The quiet Slytherin glanced sideways, his eyes grazing over her with bored indifference.

Hermione bit her lip scowling down at her plate.

Oh just brilliant, she silently berated. All she needed was one of them hearing her complain. Now they really would never leave her alone.

 

_13 September_

Blaise didn't look up as the chair beside him pulled out. He'd decided to come to class early today, having nothing better to do with his morning, but hadn't thought to account for the fact that the Know-It-All was probably an early attendee as well.

Glaring down at the table, Blaise silently continued to trace mindless lines with his quill as Hermione settled in.

 She sucked a sharp breath, swearing quietly.

Blaise looked up.

Well there was a word he'd never expected such a stuck up girl to use. It surprised him.

Hermione glanced sideways sucking at her finder. She frowned when she noticed him staring. “What?”

Blaise shook his head. “Who knew you had such a mouth.”

A flush crept up her neck, Hermione quickly turning away. Blaise smirked, returning to tracing the wood. Color on her cheeks, he idly thought, didn't make her look worse.

 

_16 September_

Blaise nodded to Adrian casually as he made his way back to the common room before lunch.

“Zabini,” the boy called walking up with a great leer about his face. “You have to hear this, mate. I just handed that mudblood a real good one.”

Blaise lifted a brow curiously, though truthfully he never had cared much for the bullying some in his house seemed to live for. He found the behavior rather crude and unintelligent. Still, he reclined his head encouraging the other boy to continue.

“You know those potions Snape has us working on?”

Trepidation nestled Blaise's gut. “Yes?”

“Well let's just say that Granger might have mixed up a few ingredients.” Adrian grinned horridly.

Blaise frowned. “Didn't Snape warn us about that?”

“Exactly,” Adrian drawled, giving his housemate a funny look. “Oh you should have seen it, the look on her face.” He made a mockingly exaggerated expression, laughing as he did so. “Shame she only burnt her robes.” Adrian sighed. “Really, I can't wait for the day when we finally wash out those stains. Father thinks it won't be long now. Anyway,” and he walked off laughing to himself.

Blaise watched the other boy go before turning back towards the dungeons. As he passed the potions room, he caught sound of Granger’s soft voice.

“Yes, Professor, I apologize.”

“Apologies don't fix this,” Snape hissed.

Hermione stood before the potions master, her outer robe discarded carelessly on the floor, head hung and fists at her sides.

“This is the kind of dim witted behavior I expect from Longbottom or one of those idiots you keep for friends,” Snape went on, the two idiots in question growling from their post outside the classroom, “but from you Miss Granger, twenty points from Gryffindor. And clean up this mess.”

“Yes professor.”

Snape turned, his dark robes flying as he stormed into his private office. Hermione scowled after him before slumping onto the floor. A sudden sound accosted the air, soft and strange. Crying. An uncomfortable feeling wrung Blaise's gut at hearing such a sound from the usually spirited girl.

“Come on Mione,” Ron's voice soothed as he and Harry entered the room.

The two boys made quick work of cleaning and calming their friend. Before Blaise realized, they were upon him. Hermione gasped at catching the quiet Slytherin loitering outside the door, her small hands quickly coming up to swipe at stray tears.

“What do you want,” Ron scathed. “Come to check out the show?”

“Are you alright?”

It wasn't what Blaise had meant to say. He'd meant to make an offhanded remark, things in their place and so on. He didn't know why the words changed.

Hermione frowned pulling in a shuddered breath. “I'm fine.”

“No thanks to your lot,” Ron added hotly.

Blaise regarded the redhead with a scowl. “If you don't want my lot to have such an easy go then maybe keep better watch on your pet.”

He hadn't meant to say that either, especially at the new look of hurt in Hermione's eye.

“Is that a threat?” Harry growled, his wand tight in his hand.

Blaise shrugged halfheartedly, pushing roughly between Hermione and Ron as he continued to the dungeons. He told himself it was a show of power, but really it was to escape before he said anything else he didn't mean.

 

_18 September_

Hermione found her table missing it's other occupant until the very last moment before the start of class.

“Thank you for gracing us today, Mr. Zabini,” Professor Vector antagonized as the quiet boy grudgingly dropped into his seat. She flicked her wand producing a flurry of equations on the chalkboard. “You all will be applying the theories discussed last lesson today. Anything not finished in class will be homework. Begin.”

The prospect of less homework had today's students less distracted overall, the room quietly working hard through the equations on the board.

Blaise huffed at his paper, scratching away at it angrily. Hermione glanced sideways, but didn't linger long as she continued her own equation. A few minutes later a sound came again along with another angry scratch. It was quiet for a few minutes more before he made another frustrated sound.

“Check your symbols,” Hermione muttered impatiently.

His scowl turned on her. “Did I ask your help, mudblood?”

Hermione paused in her work, her eyes drawing to the boy beside her. She looked disappointed, which for whatever reason bothered Blaise more than her interference.

“If you don't want help then don't make so much noise every time you get the problem wrong. Honestly, it's distracting.”

“You're distracting,” Blaise snapped back angrily.

Draco turned from the table in front to shoot his friend a confused, and somewhat concerned, look. As though only realizing his words, and their childishness--and frustrated at the fact that he's called her a name he'd never intended to use--Blaise scowled further muttering, “fuck off, Malfoy,” harshly.

Professor Vector cleared her throat, and the room sat quiet once more.

Blaise changed his symbols.

 

_20 September_

The Arithmancy room had been working quietly on Vector’s newest set of problems when the loud crashing of a book aggravated the air.  All eyes watched as Hermione quietly picked up her text, all except one who had seen how it had fallen.

Blaise frowned glancing back at Adrian.

“Stay on the ground, mudblood,” the prankster hissed, his wand still pointing under the desk. “That's where filth like you belongs.”

Blaise looked at Hermione noting the tightness in her jaw as she continued furiously on her work.

“What?” she bit glaring at him through the corner of her eye.

He shook his head catching Theo's disapproving sneer before the other boy returned to his work as well.

 

_25 September_

She kept mumbling to herself.

She did that a lot he'd come to notice, especially when she was deep in thought.

Blaise watched her curiously, his brain trying hard to work out her soft indecipherable words. Her quill scratched frantically over her sheet, the answer seeming unable to come fast enough for her liking. The strokes ended, the tip of her quill coming up to her mouth as she double checked her work. She did that a lot too.

Blaise watched as a small dark spot spread slowly on her bottom lip before realizing he was staring at her again.

He shook his head turning quickly back to his neglected sheet.

What was he doing, he silently chastised. Staring? He shook his head again. It wasn't good for his health, he decided, being so close to a muggle-born.

 

_27 September_

“Ahmm.”

Hermione cringed recognizing at once the sickly sound of the frog woman announcing her arrival. Really, was this year trying to turn her most favorite subject into her most hated class?

Professor Vector turned around from the front board where she’d only just started demonstrating the problem. She frowned at the ministry representative.

“Professor Umbridge,” Vector addressed.

Umbridge tutted negatively. “High Inquisitor.”

Hermione scowled. “High on something, I’m sure,” she glowered to the table top.

Blaise glanced at her looking somewhat taken aback; the Gryffindor had a reputation after all of favoring well amongst the staff.

Professor Vector strained a smile. “High Inquisitor. What do we owe the pleasure?”

Umbridge grinned, waddling her way to the front of the room. “Follow up inspection. Must ensure proper education is being imparted on all our young minds.”

A noise came from Hermione's throat catching the attention of the Slytherins in front of her.

“Carry on,” Umbridge cooed as she perched upon the stool at the front of the room.

Hermione glared at the overly mauve woman. “Well there's certainly a new meaning to toadstool.”

Blaise snorted, Draco and Theo shot her incredulous looks, and Hermione realized she’d said the thought aloud.

It was as much a mental exercise as a physical one to keep her mouth shut the rest of class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to acknowledge lesbionicwoman for betaing this fanfic. You're the best!


	2. October

_2 October_

Hermione stood outside class, a frown pulling at her lips when Blaise arrived. She was talking with Ron, who stopped to scowl his way as he walked into the still vacant room.

Hermione huffed agitatedly. “Honestly Ronald,” she griped. “Stop it.”

“He’s not still bothering you, is he?” Blaise heard her friend question. If he’d turned, he was sure he’d have found the red haired boy still glaring his way.

He didn’t hear Hermione’s response, too far out of range as he closed the distance to their shared desk. A few moments later Hermione took her place beside him.

Blaise glanced sideways as she unpacked her things.

“I bother you?”

Hermione paused, startled eyes befalling the usually quiet boy.

Blaise watched her blankly.

He really hadn’t meant to ask her. The question had been there of course, Weasley’s words flitting on repeat in his head, but he had never meant to voice it. It had just sort of slipped out.

“Erm,” Hermione furrowed, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.

Blaise’s eyes shifted past her shoulder where Adrian and Theo were walking in the door. He frowned, shaking his head.

“Should have sat somewhere else then,” he muttered opening his textbook.

Hermione blinked down at her table partner as Adrian started on some unoriginal remark.

 

_4 October_

Blaise reclined back in the wooden chair watching the curly haired girl traipse back and forth between the shelves. He could just make out the flustered movement of her lips every time she crossed the aisle, as though she were mumbling absently to herself. She'd seemed rather distracted in class that morning as well, he idly recalled.

“What are you staring at?” Pansy frowned noticing the quiet boy’s lack of effort in their study group. She looked at the aisle, catching sight of the frazzled Gryffindor, and then back at Blaise. “Blaise?”

Blaise turned to Pansy, Theo and Daphne watching him now as well. He shook his head returning quietly to his work.

Hermione hurried across the aisle once more.

 

_9 October_

Glass broke against the floor.

“Shit,” came Hermione's voice as she quickly scurried around the table to clean her spilt and broken ink well.

“Problem mudblood?” Draco drawled smirking at her from his seat. It took everything she had to ignore him.

Hermione rifled through her bag, hoping she’d had the forethought to pack a second one, all the while knowing she hadn’t. A sound of frustration rumbled between her lips in harmony with snide laughter as she tossed her bag back on the ground.

Glass clinked against the table.

Hermione looked down as Blaise's hand retreated back to his lap, a full inkwell set in its wake. He didn't look at her, nor at the disapproving glares of the two Slytherins in front of him.

Hermione took her seat uncertainly, her confused eyes jumping to and away from the quiet boy.

“Erm, thank you.”

Blaise didn't say anything.

Hermione spent the rest of class glancing at the Slytherin beside her, curiosity creasing her brow.

At the end when Hermione made to return the inkwell, Blaise turned her down.

“Keep it.”

Her eyes flashed, an unexpected feeling of hurt rising in her chest.

“Right,” she said sharply. “Because it's dirty now that I've touched it.”

Blaise look up from packing, his forehead furrowed slightly. “Because there are four other classes today. Unless you weren't planning to write in any of them.”

Hermione had the decency at least to feel embarrassed by her rash judgement. She looked away, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Oh.”

Draco glared from the doorway; what was his friend trying to do?

 

 

_11 October_

Blaise kept staring at the chair beside him; its emptiness was very distracting.

“Where do you think she is?” he wondered absently.

Draco glanced back at the chair and then at his friend with a frown. Theo looked appalled.

“Does it matter?” Draco asked.

Blaise regarded his blond friend, his eyes grazing over him casually as they returned to the lecture starting at the front. He hadn't meant to speak aloud.

“She's just never late is all,” he mused instead. “She's usually early.”

“Keeping tabs on pests?” Theo muttered shooting Blaise a disapproving scowl.

“I doubt the pest will show,” Adrian lulled from behind. “Not after this morning.”

Draco glanced back. “What about this morning?”

Adrian didn’t say, just smirked as though hinting of crueler thoughts.

Blaise pursed, regarding his housemate. He didn't think he much liked Adrian anymore.

“Well I hope she stays gone,” Draco muttered bitterly, glaring once more at the empty chair.

 

_16 October_

“Granger.”

Hermione looked up startled by the unexpected address. Blaise stood beside her casually unpacking his needed materials for class. They were the only two in the room. She frowned, unable to tell by his blank expression why he could possibly be speaking to her.

“Zabini,” she returned, tucking a curl behind her ear uncertainly.

“You weren't in class Friday.”

Hermione frowned.

Well of course she wasn't in class. No one would go to class after being so horribly humiliated. Why this Slytherin felt need to bring it up though, Hermione didn't understand.

Maybe he was looking to humiliate her further, her mind warned.

She didn't think it possible, nothing felt more humiliating than being spat at.

“Your point?” she questioned frostily.

Blaise glanced down at her sideways, something indecipherable in his eyes. He pulled a parchment from his bag.

“The notes you missed,” he explained holding the roll out to her.

Hermione blinked looking first at the roll and then the Slytherin holding it. “I don't,” she stammered unsure what exactly was going on.

Blaise shrugged setting the roll on the table.

“Have it if you want,” he said taking his seat. “Or don't.”

The roll stayed the temporary barrier between the two for the rest of class.

Probably cursed, Hermione reasoned silently with a reproachful eye on the sheet; nothing good ever came from Slytherin after all.

She spent the whole class shooting wary glances at it and the boy beside her to the point that she thought it must have been obvious. If Blaise noticed, however, he did not react.

It wasn't until the end of the lesson, as the two packed their things, that Hermione finally stuffed the roll of parchment into her bag.

 

_18 October_

“Is Arithmancy getting any better?” Ginny asked as the two sat in the library working.

Hermione rolled her eyes recalling the latest string of names Draco had rolled throughout class that morning. It mostly made one long train of ‘mudblood.’

“Its not worse,” she muttered.

“Malfoy?” Ginny guessed.

“And Pucey. Sometimes Nott.” She shook her head. “They’re not very original.”

Ginny smirked. “Have they ever been?”

The two continued quietly on their homework.

“What about Zabini?” Ginny wondered idly a moment later.

“Hmm?” Hermione hummed.

“He’s your table partner, right?”

She nodded absently, more engrossed in the book under her nose.

“He kept watching you the other day at dinner.”

Hermione blinked, her quill slipping from between her teeth. “What?”

“He does it a lot actually, watches you,” Ginny went on. “Could just be the spot.” She grinned looking back at Hermione. “Or maybe he fancies you.”

She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Hermione frowned as the red haired girl laughed at her own joke.

“Could you imagine that,” Ginny went on. “A Slytherin falling for a muggle-born? Sounds like some sappy cliché romance.”

Hermione nodded, but the frown still hung between her brows. She ignored the uncomfortable warmth nestling her gut.

 

 

_20 October_

Hermione stopped, her heart sputtering at the lean and angry face watching her from the end of the corridor. They were the only two in the hall.

Theo perched lazily on a stone sill set into the wall, hands in his pockets, which worried Hermione more as she didn’t know what else was in there with them.

“Awfully brave, Granger,” he called pushing off the wall to come her way.

Hermione took a breath, setting her chin high as she continued her own trek. She would not be intimidated by him.

He smirked nearing her.

“Or maybe stupid,” he murmured as he stepped by. “After all, the dungeons aren’t a place for mudbloods.”

Hermione shuddered, quickening her steps to the low chuckle echoing off the dark chamber.

Of all the Slytherins, Theo definitely frightened her the most.

 

 

_23 October_

“What am I doing wrong?”

Hermione looked up from her work, eyes wide on the boy beside her unsure if it had really been him speaking. His eyes were still on his sheet, staring frustratedly at the problem he'd spent the better of five minutes troubling over.

Hermione looked around her, expecting some third person she couldn’t see. She looked back to Blaise.

“Are you asking for _my_ help?”

His lips tightened as though he were fighting a smirk. “Yes.”

Draco glanced back, his mouth dipping sideways at his friend before going further to meet Pucey’s glare. His brow arched threateningly.

Adrian sneered at the blonde, but returned silently to his work.

Draco returned to his friend.

Blaise looked as though unaware of how inappropriately close he leaned towards the mudblood. Hermione, for her smarts at least, seemed doubly aware if the coloring on her cheeks and way she kept tucking her hair were things to go on.

Draco scowled; his friend knew better.

 

_25 October_

Draco blocked Hermione as she was leaving the great hall for their first class.

“He’s not your friend.”

Hermione looked up startled by his approach. She frowned at the arrogant boy. “Sorry?”

“Blaise,” Draco clarified. “He isn't your friend. So stop.”

Hermione frowned for a different reason now. “I'm not trying to be his friend.”

The blond boy sneered. “Then remember that mudblood, and leave him alone.”

The subject in question happened to approached the stairs just then, a troubled look about him as he took in the two.

“Is something wrong?” Blaise asked turning to Hermione.

“No,” Hermione snapped. “Malfoy’s just being a paranoid prat, but that's hardly anything new.” She shoved her way up the stairs, angry mutters cutting through her lips as she went. Blaise turned to Draco who in turn had a rather sour look on his face.

“Fucking mudblood,” Draco yelled vehemently.

“At least I'm not a ferret,” Hermione threw back.

 

_30 October_

“That old hag needs to lighten up a bit,” Theo was complaining as Draco approached the table. “First nearly banning Quidditch, now the ball.”

Hermione quietly read as the room around her relayed its frustrations at the frog woman’s latest decree, which had effectively canceled the traditional Halloween Ball only a day before its schedule.

Blaise smirked. “Not as much fun when the rules affect you too?”

Theo scowled. “Fuck off, Zabini,” he growled, his glare turning Hermione’s direction. “Unlike some, I actually enjoyed celebrating the day.”

It was quiet a moment, and Hermione just knew all three were looking at her. She did her best to focus on her book.

“Granger.”

Hermione scowled, glancing sideways at Blaise who had his head propped on his arm staring at her. She lifted her brows with a silent, ‘what?’ refusing to give him her entire attention.

“Do muggles celebrate Halloween?”

She rolled her eyes with a heavy breath. “Yes.”

“How?” Blaise wondered further.

She huffed; nothing good would come of talking to them, her mind silently berated; should just tell them to look it up.

“Well mudblood?” Draco challenged.

She looked at the pale boy unimpressed. “They put on costumes and masks and collect candy from their neighbors. Sometimes there’s parties.”

“They what?” Theo rasped, his nose crinkled as though he found the idea utterly ridiculous. Draco was outright laughing. “Why?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “For the fun of it.”

“Do you do that too?” Draco accused.

“I did,” Hermione answered pointedly. She would not be fazed by his childish behavior.

“And what did you pretend to be?” Draco pressed.

Hermione watched the grinning boy wearily. She shook her head returning to her book. “I can't remember, it was so long ago.”

A wicked smirk spread across Draco's face. “Let me guess,” he leered. “Did you pretend you were a witch? Must have, seeing as how you're still pretending now.”

Hermione bit her cheek forcing her eyes to stay on her book.

Blaise made a sound beside her. “Pretending or not, she’s certainly better than you at times.”

Hermione looked wide eyed at the boy beside her. Was he defending her?

Draco glared, and even Theo look disgruntled. Blaise didn't pay attention, pulling out a blank parchment as Professor Vector called the class to order.


	3. November: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's reference to the quidditch game in OP ch. 19. Harry and the twins get banned by Umbridge after attacking Malfoy (who of course taunted them to it).

_1 November_

Hermione swore, kicking the base of the bookshelf, and then swore for a new reason entirely. Soft laughter caught her attention and she spun surprised to find a certain Slytherin watching her from the end of the aisle.

“Aren't you a witch?” Blaise asked, walking up to where Hermione had spent the last few minutes jumping at the shelves.

She stumbled backwards, her back hitting book spines, as he overtook her personal space, and then scowled realizing he wanted a reaction. He’d done the same before class that morning too, riled her for reactions--at least until his friends had come.

Blaise smirked, easily grabbing the book she'd been trying to reach.

“Levitation charms are safe on books, you know.”

“Maybe I just wanted to get it the non magical way,” Hermione snapped, a soft flush taking her cheeks at the niggling thought that he was merely teasing her.

“Then get a chair.”

Hermione fumbled as he tossed the book her way, her stomach doing a funny flip as he turned down the aisle. He was definitely teasing her.

 

_2 November_

“You know, I’ve always wondered why Weasleys look so dirty,“ Draco called loud over a blight of weedy laughter.

Hermione paused in her trek looking first startled, and then disgruntled taking in the group of Slytherins grinning their way across the main yard. Ron, beside her, looked pissed off.

Draco sneered. “Now I see it rubs off from their company.”

“What’d you say?” Ron growled, anger quickly coloring his face red. Hermione caught his sleeve.

“Ignore him,” she whispered, giving his arm a meaningful squeeze. “He’s just trying to bait you.”

Or her, she silently attested. He'd started bothering her more frequently, Hermione had come to notice. He'd have to try harder than that.

“Worried about the game today, Weasel?” Draco called again. “I’m not. I’ve seen your keeping skills at practice. If you play that way today, I might just thank you afterward.”

Ron bit his lip so hard Hermione worried it would start bleeding.

“Leave it, Ron,” she urged, continuing louder in the blond boy’s direction, “he’s just sour because he knows he’s going to be humiliated again. It’ll be what, the fourth year now Harry outdoes you?”

Draco bristled.

“Fuck off, mudblood,” Draco hissed vehemently. “And tell Potter to watch himself. I won’t be going easy on him.”

“Oh, you’ve been going easy on him this whole time, have you?” Hermione called back pulling Ron to keep on with her. “No wonder Slytherin _never_ wins.”

Blaise pursed his lips to keep from laughing, his eyes following those fierce curls as they marched out of the yard.

 

_6 November_

“Sorry about your friends.”

Hermione paused in unpacking her things, turning to the boy beside her. Blaise was staring at something invisible on the desk, his inkless quill etching circles in the tattered wood.

“The quidditch match,” he clarified, glancing at her sideways. “Or after it really. Umbridge was too harsh, I think.”

“Did anyone ask your opinion, Zabini?” Draco snapped entering the room. Hermione could see the yellowing bruise still faint on his pale cheek where one of the twins had punched him. “If you ask me, Scarhead got what he finally deserved.”

“And who asked you?” Blaise drawled lazily.

Draco scowled. “You should remember which side you're on.”

Hermione looked up; something in the way Draco spoke sounded like their conversation was no longer about quidditch. She frowned.

“It's just a silly game,” Hermione muttered. “Honestly, why everyone gets so worked up over it is absolutely ridiculous.”

Draco sneered down at her. “I wouldn't expect a mudblood to understand.”

Hermione took in the scathing boy, and then the ceiling. “Well. Pardon my blood for finding boys chasing balls on sticks to be lacking.”

The expression on Draco's face was almost worth be called the ugly name again, Hermione told herself.

Blaise’s laugh was affirmation.

 

_8 November_

He was there before her again, his quill doodling those aimless circles across the tarnished desk.

“Granger,” Blaise hummed as she set out her things for class.

Hermione nodded her acknowledgement in return, still unbelieving of whatever this foreign decency was as she opened her textbook to busy her mind. Around her she could hear the sounds of other early comers settling in. She could feel her table partner glancing at her every so often. That was the more distracting of the two.

“Granger,” Blaise muttered again.

Hermione glanced sideways irritably. He was still watching his swirling quill, but a small smirk now hung on face.

“You're making it too easy for them.”

Hermione frowned, confused, as his eyes flickered up to her. They fell to the quill between her teeth. It took her a moment before understanding pulled the quill away.

Hermione’s hand flew to her lip, self consciously wiping away the freshly wetted ink that had spread out from her quill. She turned back to her book, scowling ruefully at the pages upon hearing the soft chuckle beside her. She couldn’t decide if she was more disturbed by his mocking favor or her feeling of embarrassment because of it.

“Granger.”

“What,” she bit acerbically.

Blaise grinned at the desk. “You missed a spot.”

 

_10 November_

Hermione nearly screamed as a hand snatched out from behind a tapestry. Another came up plastering firmly against her mouth, a body pressing hers still in the darkness.

“Shut up,” hissed a familiar voice against her ear. “Before they hear you.”

Hermione stilled, recognizing the voice at once, though it left her anything but comforted.

Blaise stepped back only when he was sure Hermione had settled. His eyes held hers, though he didn't seem to realize as his attention fell fully on the sharp footfalls echoing closer down the corridor. His fingers tensed over her lips as other familiar voices called out nearby. Their steps came and passed, and then silence, heavy in the cramped space.

Blaise’s eyes shifted, their intensity replaced with mischief.

“You look good under my hand, Granger,” he teased leaning forward.

Hermione, threw up her wand to jab under his chin. Her eyes said clearly, back off.

Blaise grinned, obliging her silent command, both hands up in surrender.

“What’s this,” he lulled playfully. “Is that any way to treat someone who's just saved you?”

“Sorry,” Hermione hissed, her stomach doing funny dances. “I don't take well to being manhandled.”

Blaise rolled his eyes pulling back the tapestry. “Manhandled? Who knew Gryffindors could be so melodramatic.”

Hermione scoffed. “And what exactly do you call putting your dirty hands all over my mouth?”

He lifted a brow. “Dirty?”

The way he said it held a sense of irony, and Hermione couldn't help but think he was recalling a different word for her in his head.

She scowled, turning to leave.

Blaise frowned.

“Where are you going?” he called, easily falling into her pace.

“That's not your business,” Hermione hissed. “Stop following me.”

“It is my business,” Blaise insisted tapping the pin fastened proudly over the emblem on his cloak. “As a member of the Inquisitorial Squad, any student out past curfew is my business.”

Hermione kept on unfazed.

Blaise scowled watching her curls bounce furiously. He wondered if they were as springy as they looked, and found himself wanting to reach out and pull one. He shook his head.

“Potter's little game must be some fun if you can't even be bothered with a proper thanks.”

He stepped quick around her, meeting her anger with challenge. Hermione stopped, regarding first the pin and then the boy behind it with a frown.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” she insisted. “I'm heading to Gryffindor tower.”

Blaise looked around the corridor, an eyebrow raised.

“Interesting route,” he lulled. “Where’d you come from again?”

Hermione glared at the Slytherin. “No where.”

He hummed, the humor wild in his eyes.

Hermione scowled. “If you don't mind.”

She turned to walk back the way she’d come only to find herself whirled around by a hand pulling her wrist. Hermione angrily threw up her wand once more, but this time it slipped right out of her hand and into another. She gasped.

“What is he teaching you if you're disarmed so easily?” Blaise questioned, twirling the lithe branch round his finger. “I didn’t even have to use magic.” He looked far too pleased with himself.

“Give that back!” Hermione hissed making to reach for her wand. He pointed it directly at her, and she froze.

His brow furrowed, the smile on his mouth dangling uncertainly.

He looked confused, her frantic mind puzzled between the, ‘he's going to attack me’ and, ‘he's going to turn me in.’

Blaise frowned, dropping her wrist as he flipped her wand handle-side out.

“Sorry,” he muttered softly. He gestured for Hermione to take back her wand, which she did cautiously. Blaise sighed.

“You can't get to Gryffindor tower right now,” he remarked casually, acting as if nothing had just happened. “Umbridge sealed the passageways.”

Now Hermione was the one frowning. “Are you--helping me?”

He shrugged.

She pursed her lips, feeling somewhere between uncertainty and frustration. “You couldn't just say that?”

He shrugged again.

Hermione felt like screaming, unsure now if this whole encounter had meant to be him teasing her again. It felt like him teasing her again. Clearly he didn't understand teasing.

She closed her eyes, counting slowly down from ten to better her nerves. When she opened them, Blaise was still there, his head tilted as he watched her curiously.

“She’ll have them up a while,” he muttered looking to be only partially thinking of his words. His mouth lifted at one side as he turned away. “Go on Granger. I'm sure your friends are wondering where you are. Can't have them think I’m _bothering_ you still.”

Yes, he was definitely teasing her again.

Hermione scowled taking her final leave. She much preferred the colder Blaise, she silently decided; at least that one she could predict.

 

_13 November_

“I really hate that mudblood,” Draco hissed as they left the Arithmancy room.

He’d started saying it more often, Blaise noted. He’d started saying more to her as well.

“I mean who does she think she is,” Draco went on, “talking that way to _me._ ”

Theo muttered something under his breath, which couldn’t quite be made out as with or against his friend’s ranting. Draco assumed it with.

Blaise shrugged.

Draco had asked for it, in his opinion. Of course he would never tell the arrogant boy that, but Draco always asked for it. And Hermione always delivered accordingly. He kind of liked that about her.

Blaise stopped walking, his brow furrowed.

No, ‘liked’ was the wrong word. Intrigued, perhaps? Curious?

Or maybe it was liked.

She was interesting at least; never reacting the same way twice. Except with Draco. She always disregarded him.

“Blaise?”

Blaise turned to the blond boy scowling beside him irritably.

“Well?” Draco urged. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Blaise gave another shrug, having not actually heard whatever the boy had asked.

Theo scoffed. “Probably on her side,” he said starting the walk again. “Why not get yourself some red hair and dirty rags, Zabini. Then you’d be the perfect blood traitor. Then she’d probably look at you.”

Blaise scowled at the lanky boy. “Fuck you,” he muttered rudely.

Theo smirked, but Blaise saw a look in his eye that said the cruel boy wasn't quite joking. It left him unsettled.

  


_15 November_

Hermione scowled from behind her stack of freshly checked out library books. The two Slytherins already in the room watched her, Blaise mildly curious, Draco--she shook her head--Draco not so mild. She just knew, could just tell, he would start in on her again today. He’d done nearly the same all month. She couldn’t say what Draco’s goal was exactly, whether to simply irritate her or to see how red his pallid face could get at her responses.

Hermione stepped quickly to the shared desk, doing well to ignore Draco’s dull jabs as she made to find room for the heavy books in her already crowded bag. She especially ignored Blaise’s watchful eyes finding him by far the more cumbersome of the two.

She’d nearly managed to get all the books into her pack when Draco snatched out the last one. That pulled her attention.

“Hey!” Hermione snapped swiping fruitlessly for the book.

The blond boy leered, dangling it out of reach.

“That’ll teach you to ignore me,” he spat, inspecting the book in his hand. He turned an intrigued brow up. “Defensive spells? Scared of something mudblood?”

“Give it back,” Hermione snapped hotly.

He didn’t--not that she thought he would--drawling lazily instead while flipping through the pages.

She huffed angrily. “I didn’t know you could read.”

Blaise snorted.

Draco snapped the book shut glowering at his friend before tossing Hermione’s book back at her. “You just love pretending to know everything, don’t you. That’s why no one likes you.”

“And here I thought it was my blood,” Hermione shot back quickly stuffing the book safely among the rest.

“That too,” he smirked. “Read all you want mudblood. It doesn’t change anything. It still won’t get you anywhere.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, unimpressed as usual. “It gets me actual prospect, Malfoy; something I’m sure you don’t understand seeing how you still rely on your father’s pockets to cover you.”

Draco looked almost ready to murder her at mention of the senior Malfoy, but then his glare turned taunting.

“Speaking of my father,” he said offhandedly, bringing a sudden uneasiness to Hermione’s gut, “he’s been looking for a new recreational spot, somewhere to entertain his _friends_.”

Hermione frowned, not quite following. Blaise looked just as unsure.

Draco went on. “Been thinking of mentioning this place near London I heard about. _Hampstead_ I think its called.” He grinned cruelly as the color drained from Hermione’s face. “What do you think, mudblood; know the area well?”

Dread fell in her stomach like a cold heavy stone. Hermione gaped. For the first time, she didn't know how to respond. He was talking about her home, her family; threatening them. How did he even know?

Draco smirked arrogantly, clearly pleased with himself as he took his chair.

Hermione barely saw it, her eyes blurred by a sudden real fear as the rest of the room filled around her.

She did not see the confused frown of the quiet boy beside her.


	4. Hogsmeade

_16 November_

Hermione excused herself as soon as the conversation turned to quidditch.

“I'll be back soon,” she told Ron and Harry. “You keep talking.”

“Do you want company?” Harry offered, though Hermione could see it was more a courtesy than actual desire to join her.

She smiled, turning him down. “No, I'll be fine. See you later.”

Harry nodded, Ron muffled some words around his drink, and a new controversy picked up in the world of quidditch. Hermione sighed, pulling her coat in a little tighter as the crisp air bit her face.

Truthfully, it was not Quidditch but Draco’s threat that drew her away. She found she could barely concentrate on her friends while his words swam in her head. The question, how did he know, and the other, who else knew, did not give her mind much room for any other thoughts.

Hermione shuddered as unknown faces drifted into her head behind ugly skeleton masks. She hadn't told Ron or Harry; they would just be rash. Ginny was just as hot headed, if not more so than Ron. No, Hermione told herself, it wouldn't do to involve them prematurely. Besides, Harry had other things on his mind, restless nights as Ron relayed.

As her mind continued on these thoughts, her feet led the way to her favorite shop. Hermione glanced up at the sign of Tomes and Scrolls, a much needed feel of comfort befalling her, before scurrying inside to escape the snowy chill. She shivered at the sudden difference in temperature, a warm smile taking her lips as she breathed in the beloved smell of old books.

Waving briefly to the store clerk, Hermione took off into the aisles. She could spend hours there, and had done just so on numerous occasions.

The minutes passed as she perused the aisles, her fingers trailing lightly over spines until they finally found one that felt too good to let go of, and suddenly Hermione was curled in a large chair happily sifting through the words pouring from its heavy pages.

“That's almost disappointing.”

Hermione jumped at the voice, having not realized someone had come upon her. She looked up recognizing at once the long lines of the quiet Slytherin. Blaise stood leaning against a shelf, a playful smirk in his eye.

“We get a rare day of freedom,” he said at her confused look, “and here you are wasting it on books? You really don't know how to have fun.”

Hermione scowled returning to her book. “I do have fun. And books are fun. An adventure on every page,” she muttered petulantly.

Blaise gave an extravagant roll of the eye. “Of course _you_ would say that.”

“And what does that mean?” Hermione frowned, though she kept up the spectacle of reading.

He chuckled lightly. “Come on, Granger. You could try something a bit more exciting.”

“Oh? Like what?”

He didn't answer.

Hermione looked up thinking him pondering only to find dark eyes watching her too closely for that to be the case. There was a look in them that made her stomach do a funny swirl.

He shook his head turning to the shelf beside him.

“Maybe you’re right,” he muttered dragging a finger slowly across the book spines. “After all, things always look better inside books.”

Hermione frowned feeling as though the words he spoke were not really the thing he was saying.

She watched as his finger trailed, same as hers had, over the many books decorating the shelves. It stilled, tracing down the length of one before slowly pulling it from its place.

Her eye shifted meeting his, and then quickly away at finding the smirk lingering there. He’d said something, she belatedly realized.

“P-pardon,” Hermione stuttered, feeling heat rise in her cheeks as she adamantly returned to her pages.

“I asked,” Blaise started again, the smirk clear in his voice now too, “if that seat is taken.”

Hermione barely glanced at the open armchair beside her as she shook her head. She forcefully ignored her stomach as he nearly brushed her knees stepping past.

He didn’t speak again after that, to the betterment of Hermione’s anxiety. He didn’t really need to, she silently berated; his presence alone proved distracting enough.

She barely managed another twenty pages as the hour passed, her eyes spending more time going to the left than down. She was nearly certain she could sense him watching her, but every time she checked he was still engrossed with his reading.

Eventually her checking became her own curiosity. Her eyes flitted down him, taking in the details from expensive fabrics to the arrogant way his leg draped over his knee.

No, arrogant wasn’t right, she silently mused. Deliberate perhaps. Assured. He had the air of someone confident being in his own skin. Someone entitled. She wondered if that entitlement was a result of his bank or his blood.

Bank, she thought. Those entitled by blood always seemed more cruel. Like Malfoy. Malfoy was cruel.

Blaise could be cruel sometimes though. He had been before. Maybe he was just less cruel than Malfoy. Or maybe it was teasing. She wondered if there was a difference.

Her thoughts went on like this as Hermione continued to watch the quiet boy, her book long forgotten, until suddenly--belatedly--she realized a pair of eyes were watching her back.

Hermione gasped, dropping her gaze quickly to her lap.

“I was just thinking,” she blathered feeling the flush creep over her chest again.

“About?”

“Nothing.”

Blaise hummed. “Do you think about nothing often?”

Hermione looked up as his mouth tightened playfully at the sides.

“That’s not what I meant,” she huffed realizing he was doing it again, teasing her.

He hummed again, dropping back to his book with a smirk.

Hermione frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry?” he said, his gaze still down.

Hermione bit her cheek, not really knowing how to word the question that had been bothering her for a while now.

“Why are you being-- _nicer_ ,” her face pinched unsure of the word, “all of a sudden?”

Blaise looked up slowly, his expression obliviously blank.

Deliberate, more like. Hermione frowned, recognizing at once the look of someone hiding.

“What do you mean?” he asked carefully.

She sucked her teeth. “You know what I mean.”

Blaise stared a moment before closing his book, setting it on the table between them, and sitting back in his chair to regard her fully.

“Would you rather I be mean?”

“I’d rather you be honest.”

His brow curved curiously. “How do you know this isn’t honest?”

“Because of what you are.”

“What I am?”

She shook her head. “Because of what _I_ am.”

“What are you?”

Hermione scowled, her curls bouncing angrily. “Because of what you _think_ I am.”

“You know what I think, do you?”

“Stop that!” Hermione snapped, her small hands tightening in her lap.

Blaise sat quietly watching her hands stretch the sleeves of her jacket in frustration. He looked back at her face.

“I don’t know what you think, Granger,” he finally answered, “but it sounds wrong. I don't cared for all that.”

A sharp laugh cut through her throat. It was not the response he'd expected.

“Don’t pretend you’re different than your friends, Zabini,” Hermione said cuttingly. “You may not say as much as them, but I have heard you put down my blood before.”

Blaise frowned careful eyes studying the flustered girl beside him. Her lips were too thin, her brow too stressed.

“Is this about yesterday,” he wondered, a feel about it as though he were approaching a wounded animal. “About what Draco said?”

He still didn’t quite understand why Draco’s words had upset her so much. Draco hadn’t enlightened to it either, simply smirked with a comment on some knowledge having greater value when not shared.

He watched as tension set into her shoulders.

“They’re just words, Granger.”

It seemed the wrong thing to say. Hermione balked scowling up at him with a sudden look of outrage.

“Just words?” she bit, the look she sent holding nothing but loathe. “You must be so lucky then to’ve never felt what words can do.”

She stood up, carelessly throwing her book onto the chair as she stormed away. Blaise blinked a moment, his brow pinched uncertainly before following her.

“Granger, wait!” he called running into the outside chill.

She was surprisingly farther away than he’d thought she could be, but before he had chance to try and catch up, he heard his name.

“Blaise?”

The voice made him cringe. He knew it too well, could picture the sour face that went with the whiny sound.

Blaise bit hard his lip, taking a moment as the fuming Gryffindor stormed further away to breathe before turning to greet a curiously approaching Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass glaring from her side.

“What the hell,” Pansy sneered looking past the quiet Slytherin to the head of curls marching off in the snow. She looked back at Blaise disapprovingly.

He raised an unenthusiastic brow. “Yes Parkinson? Did you need something?”

“Draco said you’ve been acting weird lately,” Pansy rudely accused. “I wonder what he’ll think when he finds out the kind of things you’re hanging around now.”

Blaise grinned, looking anything but friendly. “You wonder, Pansy. I don’t really care. Unlike you, I don't worry much on what someone who doesn’t care about me thinks.”

The mousy girl bristled.

“What about your mother?” Daphne threw in, her arms folded across her chest. “Care what she thinks?”

The way she asked sounded like a threat. Blaise flexed his fingers to keep them from fisting as he sized up the stuck up girl.

“I hear she's engaged again,” Daphne continued. “Avery isn't it?”

“I wouldn't know,” Blaise shrugged, looking off down the street. “She doesn't consult me on her personal affairs.”

Daphne preened. “Well she _personally_ wrote me. I wonder what I should write back.”

Blaise glared at the two girls before pushing past them.

“Tell her whatever you want, I guess,” he called walking away.

He didn’t know what he was angrier about at that moment; their threats, Granger running away, or the fact that his own damn curiosity could be blamed for the mess coming.


	5. November: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this took much longer to post than originally intended. I needed to bridge my plot, but I also didn't want the story getting too dark. Needless to say, a lot of drafting and redrafting went in. Hope you enjoy.

_17 November_

Blaise folded his arms leaning back into the dark leather chair. He regarded the spritely girl across from him, the common room fire leaving strange shadows on her pointed face.

“If you’re accusing me of something just say it,” he told her. “I don’t care for games.”

Daphne smiled. “I’m not accusing you, I’m just trying to understand why in Merlin’s good name you were calling after some mudblood.”

“I fail to see how that’s your concern.”

“Theo says you’ve been getting quite chatty with her lately,” Daphne went on.

Blaise scowled. “Theo can say whatever he wants.”

“I’m not attacking you, Blaise,” Daphne patronized, that sickly sweet smile refusing to go. “I’m just saying, your intentions have started getting muddier lately. Should we be worried?”

“My intentions?” Blaise laughed, ignoring the heat burning his gut as Daphne continued to just stare. Blaise turned towards the fire. “Like you said Greengrass, she’s a mudblood. What intentions would I have with her?”

Daphne leaned forward, cunning eyes studying the quiet boy. “Well whatever they are, I hope for your sake they don’t cast you to the wrong side.”

Blaise finally got to his feet. “Believe what you want,” he muttered, thoroughly over whatever this interrogation was, “but it was just something to do.”

“You should find something else to do then,” Daphne cautioned to the retreating boy. “You’re giving off the wrong idea.”

  


_18 November_

The chair across from Hermione pulled roughly against the floor. She looked up, having not expected company, to find the brooding gaze of Theodore Nott as he claimed the chair. He sat silently, arms folded across his chest, eyes dead like a shark’s. It made her fingers itched for her wand.

Hermione scowled, returning to her books.

She’d been picked on enough by Slytherins today, or a single blond one specifically who’d somehow managed to earn both Ron and Harry detentions for the week.

“Have a good day?” Theo asked, sounding anything but pleasant. “Mine was good. History of magic was boring, but I heard there was a wonderful show in potions.”

“Can I help you,” Hermione bit lackluster, attention full to her essay. She found his very presence disturbing. His cruel grin did not help.

“I’m actually here to help you,” Theo answered.  

Hermione highly doubted that. She could feel his eyes assessing her, could almost guess his expression. She refused to give him the time of day.

“You’re right,” he conceded to her silence. “Help is the wrong word. Remind may be better. I’m here to remind you, Granger; we’re not friends.”

Hermione laughed at her sheet. “I’ve never thought we were friends, Nott.”

He chuckled along, not really amused. “Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suite you.”

Hermione finally looked up, her stomach tightening uncomfortably.

“ _We’re_ not friends,” he emphasized, tapping the silver snake embroidered to his cloak. “We don’t befriend things like you.”

Hermione pursed her lips. She could tell he was baiting for a reaction and she refused to give it to him.

“I'm just trying to help you understand,” Theo continued softly as he leaned forward, folded hands on the tabletop--which only deepened Hermione’s desire for her wand. “In light of recent--behaviors--you could be getting the wrong idea, thinking we’re the same and that all along you’ve been right or something. I’m just helping you remember that you’re wrong.” The smile fell from his face. “Everything about you is wrong. Your very existence makes it so.”

The way he said it, as though telling a child a truth too complex for such a small mind to understand, left her with more anger than the words themselves.

He stood to leave.

Hermione told herself to let him go, to get on with her work and forget the whole encounter, but then the words fell out of her mouth before she could catch them.

“You really think my blood is so different from yours?” she hissed.

He looked down at her, and for a moment Hermione almost questioned herself.

She scowled. “How lucky for you then to believe so easily some madman’s barbaric teachings. You must be so proud to be a sheep.”

Theo merely shrugged, his eyes cold. Hermione glared as the cruel boy walked away.

  


_20 November_

“Zabini!”

Blaise pulled in a breath, eyes pinched as he turned to the blonde storming across the bright courtyard.

He'd been avoiding Draco.

After Sunday’s talk with Daphne followed by similar talks with Theo and Pansy--neither of which left him on any better standing--Blaise figured avoidance was by far his better choice.

He knew exactly what his friend wanted to discuss and truth be told he didn't really have much to say on the matter, which of course wouldn't be good enough for the arrogant boy. Clearly though, as the blonde now glared in front of him, Draco did not find his avoidance endearing either.

“Dementor on your tail?” Draco said by way of greeting. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you move so fast out of class.”

“I think I left something in the dorm,” Blaise lied, attempting to make a quick retreat. “I’ll catch up with you next class.”

Draco hummed. “Sure you’re not avoiding me mate?”

Blaise shook his head with an empty smile. “Just busy.”

Draco nodded, though he didn’t look fool enough to fall for such a horribly veiled lie.

“You were awfully quiet in class today,” he went on keeping pace with Blaise’s quick steps.

There hadn't been much to say about Arithmancy, Blaise bemused, since Draco already knew how good he was at being an arse.

Blaise shrugged. “Was I?”

Draco hummed. “Talked with Pansy recently,” he continued along. “Bit worried."

“Everything alright between you?”

Draco smirked. “Bit worried about _you_.”

Blaise threw out another fake smile ducking round a corner. “Oh. No worries there mate, she’s not my type.”

The plastered grin finally fell. “What are you doing?” Draco hissed, his pale fist turning the quiet boy towards him.

Blaise tilted his chin, taking in his angry friend. “Nothing.”

Draco sneered. “This isn’t a game you want to play.”

“I’m not playing.”

“Its not funny anymore,” Draco continued over him.

Blaise glared. “I’m not being funny.”

Draco stared a long moment, his expression something between disgust and uncertainty as he seemed to readjust the ideas in his head. “Do you--you don’t--”

He looked almost lost trying to find the right words.

Blaise frowned. “No.”

“Then what?”

He didn't say anything. He honestly didn't know himself.

A sound came from low in Draco’s throat, sharp and feral; something of disgust, of hatred.

Blaise regarded his friend warily. He’d seen Draco angry before, but he’d never felt quite as hated as he did just then.

“Sorry mate,” he said turning away. “I’ll see you in class.”

He heard the quiet hiss of, “blood traitor,’’ as he walked away.

  


_21 November_

Hermione was fuming, wet eyes hot, when Ron and Harry met her in charms.

“I hate him!” she hissed, tossing her bag angrily on the floor.

Ron, never quite sure how to handle distress, glanced at Harry over Hermione’s shoulder, who merely shook his head in return. Ron frowned, looking back at the clearly unsettled girl.

“Is everything alright?” he asked with great hesitation.

Hermione turned large angry eyes on the wavering red head. “Does it look alright?”

Ron swallowed, looking back across her to Harry who still could only shake his head.

Hermione sighed. “I'm sorry. I just--I’m just so tired of it all.”

Harry frowned. “What happened this time?”

Hermione huffed, too many things at once rushing her mind. There weren’t words enough to explain the utter meanness--for there was no other way to call it--that Draco Malfoy could do when his mind was in it.

She didn't even understand anymore. The incessant antagonies at least made sense in Arithmancy, they even made sense whenever Harry and Ron were around, but now it seemed as if he were purposefully going out of his way to not just bully her but threaten as completely as was possible.

She dug in her bag tossing out the pile of little slips for her friends. Harry and Ron each grabbed one from the crumpled mess, their faces quickly matching her outrage at the mix of sentences and images spread there.

“That bastard,” Ron growled crumpling the slip inside his tightened knuckles. “I swear I'll hex 'em next time I see 'em.”

Hermione scowled. Ron meant well she knew, but he was so hot headed that his comments only added to her ire. Harry added to it in other ways.

“Hermione this is too far,” he muttered. “You have to tell someone.”

“Oh, like how you’ve told about Umbridge?” Hermione snapped angrily.

Harry scowled. “That’s not the same.”

“It is the same,” she insisted. “Besides, it's her damn fault.”

As Draco let slip, it was in that old toad’s files that he even knew where her parents lived. She doubted he would really do anything with that knowledge at this point; he seemed far more enamoured with lording it over her, and if five years of his brand of bullying had taught her anything it was that Malfoys always held tight to the upper hand. That truth did little to abet her distress.

“As long Umbridge runs around this place the way she does, that bloody inquisitorial squad is as good as untouchable,” Hermione scowled. “What good would saying anything even do but make it worse.”

“He's threatening you!” Ron raged.

“Yes, Ronald. When is he not,” Hermione snapped back, her eyes bitter.  

Just like boys, she silently mused. They could never just listen and let her rant, always had to try and fix the problems no one asked them to.

“Just leave it alone,” she sighed, shoving the slips back in her bag upon Flitwick's entrance. “I'll handle it.”

  


_22 November_

“Oh great,” Adrian whined as Hermione took her seat moments before the start of the lesson. She’d purposely arrived late, not caring for any extra minutes among the company.  “Just had to show up, did you? Now the whole day’s stained, mudblood.”

Hermione ignored the remark as Vector called the class to order.

Mutters filtered from the desk behind, same as always as the lecture droned on, snickers and comments joining in from the desk up front. Blaise would glance sideways every now and again, and it was that which truthfully bothered Hermione most. The looks almost felt pitiful, and she didn’t want his pity.

Its just the same as everyday, she kept telling herself, her quill flying wildly across her parchment. Nothing new, nothing to fret over. It was an effort in its own to believe her silent mantra.

Hermione adamantly made her way through the lesson despite all distraction, and nearly out of class undisturbed when her inkwell toppled unexpectedly. Black liquid sloshed across her finished notes.

“Whoops.”

“What the hell, Malfoy!” Hermione gasped, Adrian’s biting laugh echoing from behind.

“Look at that, it matches your blood,” he cajoled out of the room.

Hermione quickly scrambled to clean away the stain, but it was in vain. She glared at the foul boy only to find he wasn’t even looking at her. He was looking at Blaise, his expression challenging. She scowled, roughly forcing the ruined notes into her bag.

“God, can't you have your pissing contest on someone else’s things,” she bit, furiously throwing her pack onto her back.

Draco furrowed finally regarding the angry girl, but she was already marching away.

  


_24 November_

Hermione huffed. She would never have once believed she could ever hate the end of the weekend. She loved school, and truthfully she still did. It was the rude attention she dreaded. She huffed again, this time angrier as she scowled up at the dormitory ceiling.

A soft pat comforted her leg.

“I could always hex them,” Ginny offered thoughtfully. “Pretty good at a bat bogey. George avoided me for a whole week once ‘coz of it.”

Hermione smiled, appreciating the younger girl’s try at comfort.

“Though I'm sure you could hex them well yourself,” Ginny continued. “Bet if you shot Ferret Face a nice one he'd let you alone for the rest of school. Bit of a pansy, he is.”

That managed a chuckled.

Hermione huffed once more. “I'm sure it will blow over soon.”

She hoped it would blow over soon. She sighed ready to be ignored once more.

“Just one good bat bogey,” the younger witch encouraged. “They'd definitely stop after that.”

  


_25 November_

Draco nodded placidly as the quiet boy took the space across from him at breakfast.

Blaise returned the gesture. “Morning,” he greeted, getting a piece of toast.

“Talking to us now?” Pansy sneered from Draco’s side. “I thought we had to be dirty to get your attention.”

“Shut up Pansy,” Draco muttered shooting a rather perturbed scowl to the now offended girl. He looked back across the table. “Blaise realized his mistake. We’re good now.”

Blaise tensed sizing up the boy across from him.

He’d confronted Draco last night having finally relented to himself that pretending to be neutral to his friends’ attacks on the muggle-born did not in fact make things any better for her. They certainly did not make it better for him. Blaise could only imagine what would happen if Draco finally decided to extend this form of ridicule to the whole house.

He smiled at the blonde taking a bite of his toast. “Mistake. Sure. I still say you lot let your imaginations get the better of you,” he hummed picking up his drink. “I mean a mudblood? What do you think I am?”

His eyes strayed to a head of bouncing curls at the far table.

No, he conceded, whatever his interest in her may have been, the headache of last week only proved that testing the boundaries of that interest were definitely not worth it. She was still, after all, just a muggle-born. A brilliant one--perhaps an anomaly--but not worth it.

  
  


_26 November_

Hermione froze, eyes wide as she took in the two Slytherins in the hall, both with Inquisitorial Squad badges pinned proudly to their chests.

Blaise frowned at her. “What are you doing here?”

“I am a prefect,” Hermione answered quickly.

“Prefects aren't allowed out at this time,” Theo drawled exchanging a pointed look with his patrol partner. “But I’m sure you already know that.”

Hermione felt like dying--willed the floor to just swallow her. Of all the people in all the halls at all the times to run into; she didn't know what to say. Her heart hammered angrily against her chest, her mind cruelly recalling every horrible thing that had happened in just the last week alone and deciding that none of those would add anywhere close to what she could only guess was going to happen next.

Her eyes flickered desperately to the boy she was less afraid of in that moment. Blaise merely watched her, unmoving. Unfazed.

“Well if you're going to turn me in, just do it already,” Hermione snapped, never one for suspense. Her heart already felt as though it planned to beat out her chest.

Blaise opened his mouth about to say something, but another beat him to it.

“If you insist,” Adrian hissed, his hand coming from nowhere to snatch Hermione’s wrist.

She nearly screamed, struggling frightfully at the unexpected assault. She didn’t see in her fight a certain quiet Slytherin’s deadly glare, nor the impeding hand of his friend holding back his interference.

 

 

_27 November_

Hermione kept her hands hidden under the desk, the ugly red marks too horrible to look at. She didn't want others to see.

Blaise kept glancing at her, but Hermione ignored him studiously, her head trained forward as she listened to Professor Vector’s lecture.

“Why aren't you taking notes?” Blaise whispered finally, watching her with a frown.

“I'm listening,” Hermione bit back. “So stop talking. You're making it harder to hear.”

Blaise didn't say anything more for the rest of class, ignoring too the angry glare of the blonde from the desk ahead every time his eyes strayed her way.

Screw Draco, he silently sneered, and the rest of Slytherin house. They weren’t soothing the dread in his gut.

When Professor Vector finally dismissed them, Hermione made fast to rush from the room, but before she even had a chance, Blaise caught her wrist.

Pain shot from the fresh cuts and Hermione couldn't stop the small sound from escaping. He hesitated, his grip loosening slightly at her whimper, before pulling the sleeve back to expose her marred hand.

The words ‘ _I will not break rules_ ’ stood painfully red and angry against her skin. A scarlet bead pearled at the ‘s’.

“Humph,” came a disappointed sound from behind, and Hermione realized she had an audience. Draco, Theo, and Adrian were all looking now too.

Adrian scowled down at her hand. “What'd you do mudblood?” he spat cruelly. “Color it in? You're not fooling me.”

Astonishment swept over Hermione stunning her still as she watched the hateful boy leave. She knew they were just words and she didn't have to listen, but they cut in a way Umbridge’s quills never could.

She shook herself, frustrated tears pricking her eyes, and made to pull her hand free, but Blaise would not relent.

“Let go,” Hermione bit out. “You wouldn't want my dirty blood getting on you.”

His eyes flickered to hers, troubled, before falling back to her hand. His thumb brushed the growing bead away. Hermione froze.

“I'm sorry,” Blaise whispered, the weight on his voice holding more than just the cuts on her hands.

Hermione finally lost it.

It wasn’t his apology; it was all of it.

It was the last few days, the last few months--the whole class really--and the taunts that never stopped.

It was the name calling. It was the bullying. It was the threats, whether direct or passive, true or not, written or said.

It was their eyes.

It was the way all three looked as if they could suddenly see her, actually see her, see she was human and she bled just as easily. And it wasn’t just that they were finally seeing her, it was that they looked as if the idea had never occurred to them before.

Anger flashed hot across Hermione's face as she took in the three Slytherins.

“What,” she hissed vehemently. “Feeling guilty all of a sudden? Is it not the colour you expected? Thought it’d be darker, dirtier? Think maybe your friend’s right? Maybe I've coloured it in! Well don’t just stand there staring then. Take your own stabs! Find out!”

She snatched her hand away sharply storming out of the room. Blaise didn't stop her this time.

  


_29 November_

The empty chair was disconcerting.

Draco found he could barely focus thanks to it.

Theo found his eyes just wouldn't stay forward. They kept sliding sideways to the spot.

Blaise found that his gut felt both twisted and hollow at the same time because of it. Consternation, he thought it was. Or confusion. Possibly both.

“What a relief,” Adrian grinned as Professor Vector dismissed class. “Even the air smells cleaner without that mudblood around.”

Draco paused in packing, grey eyes regarding long his housemate until the other boy grew uncomfortable and turned away. They slipped to the quiet boy, who barely shared the look a moment before taking his leave as well.

The empty chair lingered in sight.


	6. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Though I meant to post this on Christmas, looks like I'm a year late.... Enjoy!

_4 December_

Professor Vector began down her roster.

“No Ms. Granger again today?” She frowned to herself. “That’s twice in a row. Minerva noticed the same yesterday.” She tapped at the printed name. “I do hope she’s alright. That old hag better not have done something.”

“Professor?”

Vector looked up startled, as though she’d forgotten the full room before her. She glared at the front row. “Nothing you mind, Mr. Finnigan,” she snapped, continuing quietly to herself, “never know what waggling tongues listen nearby.”

She shot an incredibly indiscreet glance to the Slytherin corner, which returned the look with much the same sentiment.

“Lots of work building up in any case,” she went on putting the last marks onto the roster. “Alright. Shall we begin.”

 

_5 December_

Draco frowned, watching as Blaise unknowingly strayed his attention to the Gryffindor table again. He knew what his friend was looking for, a bushy head that had been absent for almost a week now.

Blaise’s eyes shifted feeling the other’s gaze. Draco lifted a brow.

He stood, angrily brushing off Pansy’s quick offer of accompaniment, and left the Great Hall.

Blaise sighed.

He knew full well the conversation to come and that he didn’t really want it again, but stood all the same and met his friend at the foot of the stairs. He expected Draco to start in at once the same as he’d done nearly every day since Granger’s sudden absence--he couldn’t tell anymore if the blond boy’s speeches were meant to convince him or Draco trying to convince himself. Surprisingly, Draco didn’t start in but turned instead silently began the ascent to the sixth floor.

The silence stayed until the two found themselves nearing Professor Babbling’s room, and then the expected began.

“You should get a collar,” Draco snidely remarked.

Blaise rolled his eyes.

“I'm just saying,” he went on, a rude smirk now accompanying his tone, “if you're going to mope around like a bitch--”

“I wonder, is all this you trying to make yourself feel better,” Blaise interrupted. “Because it doesn't sound like it's working.”

“Fuck you.”

“I'm just saying.” He threw his friend a side long glance.

Draco scowled. “What are you doing, mate? She’s a--”

“A mudblood?” Blaise cut in. “You still believe that? You’re still so sure?”

The other’s pale brow furrowed. He looked almost lost for a moment, as though he couldn’t quite tell if the ground he stood on was still solid. Blaise had discovered this new look a lot on Draco in the last week. He couldn’t really fault him for it, he felt the same; it was a strange thing having such a fundamental truth, an engraved pillar of reality, be revealed as fraud. It left a hollow kind of wonder to question over.

“You know what I'm sure of,” Draco started again. “I'm sure our House won't give two fucks what may or may not be true. And I'm sure this infatuation of yours is more trouble than it's worth. You've a name to live up to, a reputation.” He dropped his voice watching his friend closely. “Father says _He’s_ started asking about us. Looking for new recruits to join the cause.”

“I don’t believe in that cause.”

Draco scowled. “That's not the point.”

“That is the point,” Blaise returned. “Otherwise what the hell is this fight even about?”

Draco fidgeted again lost for words. His head felt heavy with too many uncertainties swimming against each other.

Blaise frowned at his friend. “We’re wrong mate. Don't you wonder what else we’re wrong about?”

Draco shook his head. “Right and wrong don't keep you alive.”

 

_6 December_

“I'm feeling much better, thank you,” Hermione smiled, taking the pile of missed assignments from Vector. She turned finding the Slytherins already occupying the seats around hers.

They wore a flurry of expressions all a mix from anger to empty. Hermione tucked a curl keeping her head tall as she shuffled quietly to her spot. She would not be baited or bullied anymore, she silently affirmed, she would not be run off by snakes.

“Back mudblood,” Adrian said when she was close enough so the professor would not also hear. “I thought you'd have learnt better.”

She pressed her lips together. Would not be baited, would not be bullied.

“Pucey, do it a favor,” Theo muttered leaning back in his seat. “Either keep the obnoxious out of your voice or keep it off.” He glared at the boy. “Think you can manage?”

Hermione froze mid step, confounded eyes befalling the cruel boy in the desk before hers. He didn’t acknowledge her, swinging back around to wait out the remaining minutes with a dark scowl.

 

_9 December_

“You both get the cauldrons set up,” Hermione instructed to Harry and Ron, “I’ll get the ingredients.”

She walked the short way to the Potions room stores, collecting the medley of ingredients needed for their final assignment. By random inclination she glanced at the doorway and discovered a certain arrogant Slytherin there watching her.

He wasn’t really watching her so much as her outstretched hand as it pulled down a bottle from the shelf. It was the same hand that had held those ugly cuts only a couple weeks prior, soft pink scars the only evidence now left to behold. Draco’s eyes slid from her hand down to her face. The expression lingering there looked angered but not in a hateful way. He looked more disturbed, upset for some reason.

Hermione frowned quickly taking the last of the ingredients she needed and left the room. He stepped aside as she passed, no snide or cruel remarks, not even a glare.

Hermione looked back as she returned to the table. The frown deepened across her brow.

“Something the matter?” Harry asked noticing her quiet.

Hermione shook her head. “Malfoy.”

Ron scowled rising from his seat. “What’d he do? Did he say something?”

“No,” Hermione sighed, turning a different kind of frown on her friend. “He didn’t do anything, Ron.”

She looked back, her expression still troubled, as the pale boy left the classroom stores. He met her gaze only briefly before sliding right over her to sneer at the boys as he passed their table.

Hermione shook her head again, pulling the cauldron her way. “Forget it,” she muttered lighting the fire. “Let’s just get to work.”

 

_11 December_

Blaise found her in the library.

He’d meant to catch her after class--he’d meant to catch her all week, but her friends it seemed had no intention of letting her on her own-- but Hermione didn’t linger long enough for him to get a word in edgewise. It was sheer luck that Blaise now found her by herself surrounded by a pile of books.

He smirked wondering as he made his way to her if one person could actually read that much.

She looked rather small against the large tomes, her hair frizzed from her own unconscious ruffling as she read. He watched her hand pull a curl straight before letting it bounce back in place and repeating the action again. It wasn’t until in front of her cluttered table, the now barely formidable barrier between them, did the idea that maybe she didn’t want to talk to him start to occur.

“Granger,” Blaise greeted before his nerves bested him.

Hermione jumped, her quill falling out from between her lips in surprise. She frowned, her eyes darting back and forth uncertainly. “Zabini?”

His eyes fell to the blurry spot the quill left behind. He really wished she’d stop biting quills, they left funny thoughts in his head.

Blaise grinned returning his gaze up. “Getting ready for exams?”

Hermione didn’t answer.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he went on. “Class just wasn't the same without you there.”

The comment only deepened her frown. It put a fresh on between Blaise’s brow; even he could tell how foreign his voice sounded, stiff and slightly too low. He tried to clear his throat.

“Anyway here,” Blaise continued, fishing out the roll of parchments that was his original excuse for being there in the first place. “All the notes you’ve missed.”

He placed them on the table before pulling his hands into his trouser pockets. The tightness in his stomach was making it hard to swallow, and he suddenly felt rather out of place. He scowled at the cluttered table; he was usually much better at conversation than this.

“Are they covered in nasty names like the other notes you lot have sent?” a new voice hissed from behind.

Blaise turned surprised by the voice to find a younger girl standing there, her freckled face nearly as red as her hair.

The youngest Weasley sneered down his height, arms folded and wand poking out at the side. Her eyes seemed to rage with a fire just barely controlled, one Blaise had the inkling would burn him if he ever wasn’t careful.

He looked back at Hermione. “I just thought you’d find them helpful.”

“She can manage without your help.”

“Ginny,” Hermione muttered turning her discomfited gaze on her friend.

The younger girl shook her head with a silent, ‘ _what_ ,’ reclaiming the seat beside Hermione. One eyebrow shot up pointedly as though asking Blaise why he was still standing there. Blaise scowled at the hotty witch. He had never interacted much with the little Weaslette, but he certainly didn’t like her at the moment.

Hermione tsked at her friend. “Thank you,” she said taking the roll. “I appreciate it.”

Blaise shrugged giving the angry Ginger another glare, who returned the look with increased severity, before finally taking leave.

He heard Hermione whisper as he left, “I swear to god, if you bring it up one more time I’m going to hex you.”

The younger girl replying, “I’m just saying, its a lot of effort for some notes.”

 

_13 December_

Hermione was outside the Arithmancy room as Blaise and Draco arrived, which was surprising as she rarely loitered the halls by herself let alone before a class.

Draco grumbled under his breath at the sight, “Well isn’t there the start to a crappy day,” puffing away angry questions about her intent. Blaise ignored his friend, though his own thoughts wondered on a similar curiosity.

Hermione fidgeted with her bag’s strap, moving her attention from the fabric to the simple watch around her wrist. She huffed at the contraption, her eyes darting around the hall as though expecting something. They swept over the two then tracked back quickly, a sudden uncertainty coloring those brown rings as determination set in her lips. Hermione whisked forward, ignoring the fact that they were already heading her way, and brandished out a roll of parchments that stabbed Blaise’s chest. He looked at the roll in surprise.

“Thank you,” Hermione said in that matter of fact way that was distinctly her. When Blaise did not immediately take the papers, she cleared her throat pushing the sheets forward ever so slightly. “I’m sure you need them back for the final.”

Blaise frowned. “They’re a copy. I made them for you.”

Hermione blinked glancing hesitantly between the two boys as a soft line formed on her brow. “Oh. Well I made my own, so I don’t need these anymore.”

Draco let out a scoff. “Do mudbloods even have manners?”

His face froze momentarily, grey eyes flashing over the girl in front of him with a look that appeared both guilty and fearful of the repercussions to come from his remark. And then, just as quickly, the look turned angry. Draco snatched the roll Hermione still held, and stormed off into the classroom, undecipherable mutters slipping between his teeth.

Blaise frowned watching his tempered friend before returning to the quiet Gryffindor still in front of him.

Hermione stuttered at once. “I didn’t mean--”

“I know,” Blaise replied, offering his lightest smile as assurance. “Really, Granger, they’re just notes. Only a arrogant arse would get offended by that.”

He raised a brow as if encouraging her to join his joke. She smiled slightly, though it looked more uncertain than humored, before heading into class.

Blaise sighed watching her wild hair bounce away until she too was inside the room, discovering that an unsettling feeling--something akin to regret--seemed to have found a new home in his gut.

 

_18 December_

Hermione paused seeing that unmistakably arrogant head of pale hair leaned up against the base of the stairs. Draco Malfoy stood by himself seeming rather perturbed as he shuffled between his feet and his robes. Antsy was the word that came to mind.

Hermione huffed before setting her head straight and marching to the staircase with the silent plea for him to just ignore her. It was of course too much to ask.

“Granger,” Draco said, straightening up at once at her approach.

Hermione didn’t spare him a thought as she pushed forward, taking the steps two at a time in hopes he would not follow her.

“Granger,” he said again, pulling his pack in tighter as he kept pace just a few steps behind. “Slow down, eh. I need to talk to you.”

Hermione scoffed, her feet pushing harder for a faster pace while her thoughts imagined remarks of their own. Of course she knew she couldn’t outrun him; they were headed the same direction after all, nevermind his longer stride and athletic build. She wondered if all his griping was actual fatigue or merely distaste at unnecessary work, and then realized she didn’t care much either way--in Hermione’s opinion Malfoy deserved every discomfort he incurred and then some.

“Fucking mudblood, can’t you ever listen.”

“No,” Hermione finally snapped, spinning back at once and nearly knocking over the pale boy who hadn’t expected her halt. “I refuse to listen to self centered, entitled, arrogant, little prats. And I certainly refuse to listen to you call me that word.”

“That so,” Draco sneered. “Because I’d say you respond to it more than you do your own name.”

Hermione bit hard against her mouth, turning quickly again to continue to the Arithmancy room. A heavy grunt rumbled in her wake, and then suddenly Hermione’s feet were nearly pulled from under her as a sharp tug yanked her back by her bag. She yelped, grabbing the rails desperately as Draco pushed his way past her to now stand ahead.

“Malfoy! You dirty--ferret!” Hermione gasped viciously.

The arrogant boy tilted his head unimpressed.  “Is your whole house this dramatic, or is it just you and your idiot friends who feel the need.”

“I swear to all things good, if I’m late to this exam because of you--”

“I should say,” Draco threw back. “Can’t you shut up for a minute and just listen?”

“What?”

Draco gave her one long rove over, ending his icy gaze on hers. “So what if we’re wrong. It doesn’t mean we can change. We don’t have that luxury.”

Hermione frowned. “Sorry?”

“I’m just saying, Granger,” Draco continued looking even more perturbed as he continued to talk, “its your own damn fault if you get offended. I mean, aren’t you supposed to be smarter than that?”

“Malfoy, what in the world are you even on about?”

Draco scowled angrily. “Nothing. Nevermind. Forget I even bothered,” and with that he turned and stormed away.

Hermione stood a moment watching in utter confusion the angry boy clatter his way towards their shared class.

“Stupid ferret,” she finally muttered shaking her head angrily as she continued on as well; the last thing she needed was to be late for the final exam.

 

_20 December_

Hermione walked the aisles of Flourish and Blotts alone. Harry and the Weasleys had run off to Quality Quidditch for various reason, but mostly because they needed a pick me up at the moment.

Mr. Wesley was going to be alright, but the family was still shaken and in need of a distraction. For them Quidditch was the comforting choice. For Hermione it was books.

She stopped at the rare collections case her eyes carefully studying the old leather bound tomes inside. She softly muttered the name of the one she had spied earlier that summer still sitting proudly on its stand.

 _Genuine artifact of the eighteenth century Warwick Courts_ , the small placard read.

Hermione smiled, imagining what knowledge its old pages held, her eyes drifting up through the tall case in thought. She registered a body on the opposite side of the narrow structure, her vision focusing at the realization that she recognized the face.

Her gut tightened frightfully, taking in the empty gaze of Theodore Nott. He nodded to her, not necessarily a friendly move but not vicious either.

“It's one of the first studies in Staveless,” he muttered glancing at the book Hermione had been admiring. He looked back at her. “You take Ancient Runes, don’t you?”

Hermione nodded uncertainly.

Theo smirked. “Figures. You’d probably take every class if you could.”

“No,” Hermione disagreed. “I don't care for Divination.”

Theo let out a small laugh. It was so foreign in sound, Hermione didn't realize what it was at first.

“Have you read it?” she asked, her genuine curiosity pushing the question. She nodded down at the book.

Theo shook his head. “No, but my great grandfather’s uncle wrote it. At least that's what my father said. I've seen his name on our family tree.”

Hermione imagined a wall full of faces like the one at Grimmauld Place, but perhaps better kept and maybe without the burnt spots.

“I heard about your friend’s father,” Theo muttered, his eyes carefully examining the old book, or carefully avoiding hers.

Hermione blinked, a new uneasiness setting in.

She did not like Theo because she knew his meanness well. He didn’t strike fast and biting like the other Slytherins. He waited because the unexpected always cut deeper. It would not take much from him to turn the docile conversation into something cruel.

Theo looked at her through the glass. He frowned.

“You ridiculed me once,” he said, “for, how did you put it--blindly following a madman.”

The memory flew to thought bringing an echo of the anger and loathe from that day with it.

“But you're wrong Granger,” Theo continued, “that's not it.”

For a moment Hermione saw something real on his face, something exposed.

His eyes fell back to the case. “I might not like Weasley, but I don't wish him to lose a parent. I know what that’s like.”

Hermione blinked.

The indifferent mask stayed firmly on Theo’s blank face, but Hermione felt as though, for a moment, she was looking underneath; that for a moment she could see the human behind the cold boy.

“Theo?” A voice disturbed the silence. “You in here? Nott?”

Hermione turned with Theo to find another familiar, though just as unfriendly face come upon them. Draco stopped, befuddled scowl turning from Hermione to Theo uncertainly.

“Granger,” he frowned, something between a salutation and question.

“Malfoy,” Hermione returned primly.

“What are you doing here?” Draco wondered, his cloudy eyes sliding over her to the boy still watching from behind the case.

Hermione pursed. “Is that your business?” she snipped.

“That's not--” he scowled, agitation taking his discomfort. “Well since you are here, you might as well invest in a new quill next door. I swear if I have to listen to another semester of your obnoxious scratching--”

“You’ll what? Have your father visit my parents about it?” Hermione threw back hotly.

Draco scowled turning quickly on his heel with a mutter of, “fucking mudblood,” before yelling back that the other boy better be following or find his own way home.

Hermione heard Theo’s low chuckle as he came around the case in pursuit of his friend. “See you around. Granger,” he muttered stepping by.

“Hmm, yes,” Hermione returned. “Happy Holidays.”

Theo paused, looking back at her curiously. “Do muggles celebrate Christmas?”

Hermione couldn't help rolling her eyes. “Yes, Nott. Muggles celebrate all the same days as wizards.”

Theo hummed thoughtfully.


	7. Christmas

_ 25 December _

Hermione climbed up the raggedy stairs inside number 12 Grimmauld Place and into her shared room with Ginny, ready to retire from the festivities of the day. The others, for the most part, were still downstairs laughing, drinking, and dancing away into the late hours of Christmas night.

It had been a wonderful night--a wonderful day--among family and friends, and for a moment, as Hermione lay in her bed recalling her new memories, she could almost pretend there was no Dark Lord and his fuel of hate threatening a war on her and her friends. For a moment everything was fine.

Hermione smiled, happy with her new memories and happy for the small shelter the unlikely commons of Grimmauld Place had given to her this Christmas night. And for some reason, in that last moment teetering between the brink of wake and sleep, Hermione wondered if a certain group of Slytherins had found for themselves as good a Christmas as she.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its pretty short (sorry), but I don't know how long it will be until the next chapter and I didn't want to end up going too long to get this one out by waiting to post it with the next.


	8. January

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had posted this chapter earlier, and then decided I didn't like what I'd had. So, here's the revised version; sorry for the lapse.

_ 14 January _

Hermione hesitated at the door of the Arithmancy classroom. It was a new semester which meant a chance to change spots, and as the first in the room she had the pick of the lot.

She let out a breath, a sudden lightness overtaking her as she all but ran to the front most seat farthest from the Slytherin corner. She was near dancing as she unpacked her things, straightening her books just so, and taking her new and cherished seat almost gingerly. Giddy was an understatement.

Hermione grinned taking up her text and reviewing its thick pages. Around her clamored the sounds of other students making their new claims. She barely paid attention. Honestly, she could care less who sat where as long as she didn’t have to deal with Slytherins anymore.

“Have a good holiday, Granger?”

Hermione jumped in her chair.

No, her mind wailed. She glared up at the boy casually pulling out the seat to her left. Blaise grinned back.

“What are you doing?” Hermione hissed, glancing nervously at the people around her. Her table, to her utter despair, seemed to once again be drawing attention.

“Sorry, was this seat taken?” Blaise asked, though he seemed to care very little for her answer as the question did nothing to slow his actions. He sat, propped his head on his arm, and lifted his eyebrows towards Seamus, who was taking the desk to Hermione’s right with a rather sour look.

The worst whiny sound swore from behind.

“Who the bloody hell chooses to sit at the front?” Draco scowled at his friend.

Hermione scowled at the table. Her fingers tightened angrily around her textbook as the arrogant Slytherin tossed his pack onto the desk behind her, effectively bullying away its previous occupant.

“No one’s asking you to sit here, ferret,” she huffed under her breath.

“No one’s talking to you, mudblood,” Draco threw back.

Hermione turned to glare at the foul boy only to discover a good handful of the places behind her suddenly rearranging with Slytherins.

Draco smirked viciously. “Don’t like the view? I promise the feeling’s mutual.”

Hermione bit her cheeks; she was not going to deal with another semester of them. She would not. She absolutely couldn’t. Her head felt ready to pop right off.

Hermione slammed shut her text and pushed angrily to her feet.

“Ms. Granger,” Professor Vector greeted from the doorway. “How good to see you at the front again.” She nodded happily, patting Hermione on the shoulder as she passed. “If you would.”

Hermione refused to look at anyone the rest of class.

  
  


_ 16 January _

Ron watched the Slytherin table with a distrusting scowl. “They’re up to something,” he muttered. “Who would  _ choose  _ to sit by you?” He looked quickly to Hermione with a sheepish grin.

Ginny shook her head.

“Oh, you know its not how I meant it,” Ron argued petulantly. His scowl returned to the Slytherin table. “Its just with those Death Eaters getting out and all, and now this--you need to be careful.” He tore off a bite of his toast.

“And you need to come off it before you really stick your foot in your mouth,” Hermione warned.

Ron had argued nearly the same for the last two days, and Hermione for one was growing quite tired of the conversation, especially as there was absolutely nothing to be done for it. If she had to listen to it again, she was sure she would hex him.

Ron shrugged, looking only slightly guilty. “Shuv sbish pots t’be safe,” he said anyway, bits of bread flopping around his tongue as he spoke.

Ginny stared at her brother’s abhorrent table manners. “You’re so disgusting,” she tsked. “Close your mouth.”

“No, I can’t just change spots,” “Hermione sighed. “We’ve already been through this.”

Ron sulked taking another couple rashers to his plate. “But they’re Slytherins.”

“Really,” she speared a grape, “I hadn’t noticed.”

Ron smacked his lips. “All I mean is, what with You-Know-Who running around and all, I wouldn’t put it past any of those snakes to try something just to impress their Death Eater parents--or worse, You-Know-Who himself.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Really Ron, this has nothing to do with Death Eaters--”

“For now.”

“--and you know it.” She shot him a pointed look. “They’re bullies doing the only thing bullies know how, and I for one don’t plan to take any part in their childish game.”

“Should still talk to your professor,” Ron pouted surly. “Can’t be too careful, isn’t that right, mate?”

“Eh?” Harry looked up mildly surprised by the nudge to his side; he looked mildly surprised at the idea of a conversation happening around him at all.

Hermione regarded the boy across from her. He had circles under his eyes and his hair looked much messier than usual. His nightmares must be getting worse, Hermione thought, not to mention the stress of his newest extracurricular with Snape. She would have to pull some books on Occlumency at the library this weekend, do some research to try and help her friend.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, gulping heavily from his mug as if hoping it would make the caffeine take faster. “Like Ron said, you should be careful.”

“I should be careful?” Hermione frowned. “Have you seen yourself?”

Harry scowled, his mug refinding the table with a heavy thunk.

Hermione shook her head at her stubborn friend. “I can manage a couple of bullies, Harry. Its you we should be more worried about.”

“I’m fine.”

“And don’t you look it,” Ginny chimed, shooting her own look to the boy beside her.

Harry huffed at his plate. “Its not like that. I just had a rough night.” 

Ginny rolled her eyes. He huffed, taking up his bag as he rose from the table. “Good luck in Arithmancy, yeah. Ready mate?”

Ron nodded, shoveling in his last bites before joining Harry. “You be careful ‘round those snakes,” he warned as farewell. Ginny waved her brother off with a frown.

“Ignore him,” she sighed. “I do.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, the two girls deciding it best to make their own leave before the final rush.

“And just so we’re clear,” Ginny added, her voice dropping conspiratorially as they approached the stairs, “if anything does happen in that class, I expect to be the first to know.”

Hermione swatted the air as the winking girl hopped away, an insinuative grin spread between her cheeks.

  
  


_ 21 January _

Hermione sat peacefully enjoying the fact that she would be the only one in the Arithmancy room for a very long while. She’d left the dorms deliberately early and opted out of breakfast, choosing instead to sift through her latest book on Occlumency.

It was around the time the sky began to color in the windows that the chair beside her pulled softly against the ground. Blaise didn’t say anything at all, to Hermione’s mild surprise. She dared a glance sideways and found a mirror of herself in his chair. He had a book balanced between the desk and his lap, his chair rocking slowly on its back legs as he idly pushed and pulled the table.

“Granger,” he acknowledged, eyes darting to hers momentarily.

Hermione nodded her own greeting, quickly returning to her book. It stayed quiet a few minutes more before Blaise broke the silence again.

“I didn’t see you at breakfast.”

Hermione looked up at her table partner, a couple of Ravenclaw girls now taking their seats from over his shoulder.

“Bit of light reading?" He pointed to her book.

Hermione quickly snapped it shut at finding him scanning over the open page. Blaise glanced up, a newfound mischief in his eyes.

“Something to hide in that head of yours?” he teased.

“Don’t you know that’s rude,” Hermione hissed irritably.

Blaise tilted his head giving her a funny look as his chair dropped back to four legs.

“Because you'd know all about that.” He said it as though she were the pot to his kettle. 

Hermione frowned, the chairs around them filling much more quickly now as the hour fast approached its close. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped, flustered at feeling left out on some new conversation. Of course, Professor Vector bustled in that moment with a pile of scrolls, effectively ending any further discussion as she called Hermione to come help. 

"Across the hall, Ms. Granger. The rest, please." 

Blaise turned back to the front as Hermione heeded their professor's instructions.

  
  


_ 23 January _

“Whatever you haven’t finished will be homework. Thank you,” Professor Vector called as the room broke at once into a sudden flurry.

Hermione spared no time in collecting her things, threw her pack over her shoulder, and hurried off towards the quiz coming in Herbology.

“Defang the geranium and then uproot, or is it the other way?” Her frazzled brain tried to slow her thoughts while quickening her feet, and then, without warning, her feet lost the floor.

Hermione yelped, feeling her stomach drop unexpectedly as a phantom hand pulled her back onto solid ground.

“Th-thank you,” she graciously gasped, turning to her rather surly faced savior.

“Really, Granger?” Draco grumbled, pushing by her and down the stairway. “Can’t you watch where you’re going? The world doesn’t owe you a thing, you know.”

Hermione blinked, gratitude quickly forfeiting to vexation. “Excuse me,” she chased behind him, “no one made you help me.”

He threw back an off-putting sneer. “Are Gryffindors bad at appreciation, or is that a muggle thing? Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d think your parents forgot to teach you how to be grateful. Then again, maybe its your poor choice of company rubbing off on you.”

Hermione scoffed angrily. “Are Slytherins bad at hearing?” she threw in return. “Because I already said thanks!”

Draco stopped at the base of the stairs, nearly causing Hermione to lose her footing a second time. He frowned, his expression something between amusement and agitation.

“Did the Weasel teach you to walk, too?” he wondered with a shake of his head as he took off again. “And by the way,” Draco called back, “you obviously uproot and then defang geranium. Know it all.”

  
  
  


_ 28 January _

Hermione scowled again, shaking her head at her red haired friend as she vigorously scratched something onto his parchment lying between their dinner plates. Blaise coughed down into his own plate, hoping to mute his found humor in the action; he really needed to stop staring before somebody caught him. He looked up again as the youngest Weasley managed to break into Hermione's ministrations. His eyes slipped sideways.

Theo frowned, Daphne beside him looking as though someone had put an acid pop in her mouth. The grin fell off Blaise’s face at once.

“I’ll finish first,” Theo said, glancing at Daphne as he tossed his napkin over his dinner. “Blaise and I have some homework we need to finish together.”

“For which class?” she needled with an impish pout.

“One you don’t take.” Theo turned to Blaise. “Ready?”

Blaise followed the lean and lanky boy from the other side of the table and out of the Great Hall. He fumbled with the lining in his pocket as the two shared a rather drawn and weighted silence down to the dungeons. He was used to Draco saying something by now, usually a self-centered concern over Blaise’s carelessness and how it was damaging the blonde’s reputation.

“You’re making assumptions,” Blaise began, schooling his indifference. “I was just--”

“Did I ask?” Theo grumbled, glancing sideways as he recited the password to the common room. “I’d say you’re the one making assumptions. I wonder why?”

He sprawled across one of the couches by the fire. Blaise took the other looking put out.

Theo smirked. “Remember when you wouldn’t even touch a blood traitor much less a mudblood.”

“She’s not--”

“Did I say her?” Theo scowled. “But be honest; you stopped caring about it all long before you found out about her blood. Or are you going to try and play that one off, too?”

Blaise answered him with a rude gesture.

Theo chuckled. “She is still a mudblood you know, even if she’s not really.” He regarded the stone faced boy on the opposite couch. “Pucey’s been asking what’s going on with you; you’re behaving strangely in Arithmancy.”

“Yeah, well maybe you should tell Pucey to--”

“Oi!” Theo growled. “Do I look like you’re errand boy? I’m just telling you you’re not being as careful as you might think you are.” He looked at Blaise pointedly. “Or maybe you just don’t care. Either way you’re inviting trouble. People don’t like snakes; they’ll sooner step on you than give you a chance.”

  
  
  


_ 30 January _

Blaise paused trepidatiously in the isle before his study group. Barely the third week of the term and Draco and Daphne had been at it for too long now with the conversation going nowhere soon. Blaise had even managed to visit the librarian’s desk, find the book he’d been searching for, and return only to discover the argument still very much underway. It wasn't even important arguing, he silently mused, but it seemed stubborn people could build wars out of rubbish.

He huffed, posting against the shelf. A familiar face caught his eye.

Hermione moved carefully, her eyes scanning the rows at the far side of the aisle. She didn’t seem to notice him at the end, too focused on her search. Her eyes flipped over the titles crunched together on the shelves above her head while her lips muttered soundlessly as she searched the spines for her bounty. It was a rather distracting habit of hers, that silent muttering. It made her lips pout slightly, and Blaise couldn’t help but fall prey to the stirring ideas it riled.

Her head turned, and suddenly those intense eyes were on him.

Were it anyone else they’d have likely had the decency to turn away, but Blaise did not. Instead he continued staring, watching with a bit of amusement now Hermione shift uncomfortably, and then scowl at discovering the humor in his eyes.

“Can I help you?” she clipped.

Blaise shook his head. “I seem to have mistrusted my choice of study group,” he began, not really sure where he was going only that he should say something before she decided to leave. “How’s your Friday treating you?”

Hermione frowned. “Well enough.”

Blaise nodded, stepping forward with the silent prayer that she wouldn’t take off running at his advancement. Somehow, despite what her house’s accreditation claimed, he had never found her to be overly brave except among things she deemed righteous.

Her dark brown eyes grew larger with each of his steps.

“Any plans this weekend, Granger?” Blaise asked lightly. “Or were you going to stand here and jump at the books the whole time?”

Anger singed her cheeks, and Hermione quickly returned her attention to the shelf.

Blaise grinned, stopping beside her. He regarded the books. “All I mean is,” he started, trying to fight off the smile pulling his mouth, “well, I thought you liked to do things the--what was it? The non-magical way.”

Hermione glared up at him. “What do you want?”

“Could we study together?”

The words fell out before Blaise realized he was asking them. He glanced sideways.

Hermione blinked, her mouth open though no sound came.

“I only mean,” Blaise quickly continued before she could say no, “well, I’ll never get through anything with the way my sodding group is, and anyway we take most of the same classes. Besides, knowing your friends, I’d wager I’m a much better study partner than them.”

Hermione frowned.

“Come on, Granger,” Blaise pushed. “I thought you were all about that inter house unity nonsense.”

“I thought you were not.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I changed.”

Hermione didn’t look convinced.

He rolled his eyes with a heavy sigh. “Really, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Hermione bit her lip and turned back to the shelf uncertainly. She stared a moment at the books, then reached up, grabbed one almost at random, and quickly scampered out of the aisle before Blaise had time to even realize what she’d done. He stood in mild shock, watching her springy curls coward away.

Well, he mused to himself, it wasn’t a no.


	9. February Part 1

_ 1  _ _  February _

“Oh!” Hermione gasped, not expecting anyone to be on the other side of the Great Hall doors. She skidded to a halt, her exhilarating heart skipping a couple beats as her mind rattled to attention.

“Granger,” Blaise said, looking just as surprised as she by the unexpected appearance. The look quickly turned cunning. “Out breaking rules again?”

“What do you mean again?” Hermione snapped, irritation muted only by her lack of breath. She jumped as the door pulled open behind her, her red haired friend stumbling in.

“You lousy cheat!” Ginny laughed, just as breathy as Hermione. Her eyes shifted towards Blaise. “Zabini?”

Blaise tilted his head, “Weaslette.” He returned to Hermione with a rather daunting leer. “As in I’ve caught you out past curfew before.”

“Its not past curfew!” Hermione snapped as the courtyard clock struck the hour above them. She pursed her lips irritably. “If you don’t mind.”

She pushed past and up the changing stairs, Ginny following with a look towards the smirking boy.

“Oi Granger,” Blaise called, the wicked grin not even trying anymore to hide on his face. “You never answered my question.”

“Take a hint!” she returned.

“What was all that about?” Ginny asked as they landed the seventh floor corridor.

Hermione shook her head. “He wants to study together.”

Ginny choked, her feet stalling. “He wants to what?”

“Or so he says.”

The younger girl snorted. “Why?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

“And when was this?”

“Friday.”

“Friday!” Ginny exclaimed. “And you’re only telling me now?”

“Well I hadn’t planned to say anything at all,” Hermione grumbled moving towards the Fat Lady.

Ginny gave an exaggerated roll of the eye. “So what, he doesn’t want to take no for an answer?” Her smile fell slightly at Hermione’s sideways look. “You did say no?”

Hermione bobbed her shoulders noncommittally.

Ginny stared. “Are you mad?”

“Well I didn’t say yes,” Hermione reasoned.

“Then what did you say?”

“Nothing,” she insisted. “I just,” she rolled her hand through the air as if hoping to catch the word there, “left.”

The younger girl frowned discouragingly. “What do you mean you just left?”

“As in I didn’t hang around to keep on the conversation.”

“Oh, it was a conversation now?”

Hermione scowled ruefully. “Aren't you the one with all those silly looks and innuendos?”

“Yeah! But they're jokes! I mean, why would you ever actually  _ consider _ that?”

Hermione shot the younger girl a foul glare. “I’m not considering anything.”

"Right." Ginny didn't look convinced. “That’s why you didn’t say anything.”

Hermione stared utterly baffled. “Can you hear yourself right now?”

Ginny sneered. “You do remember what he is, don’t you?”

She narrowed her eyes. “And what is he?”

“A Slytherin! A pureblood--”

“You’re a pureblood.”

“-- a death eater!”

Hermione tsked. “Oh he’s not a death eater.”

“That doesn’t mean you should trust him!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Now you’re sounding like Ron.”

“Well maybe Ron has a good point,” Ginny threw back.

Hermione scowled stopping in front of the portrait doorway. “Well you and Ron and everyone else can stop worrying about me making friends with Slytherins. Trust me, its not an option. Oddsbodikins!”

And with that she stormed inside.

  
  


_ 4 February _

Hermione paused, her ears quickly tuning into the two Hufflepuffs by the wall as everyone waited for DA to begin. Hannah Abbott shushed Zacharias Smith, her pout clearly saying she didn’t find him very sensitive to the subject. He rolled his eyes.

“Are you sure you’re not making it up?” he continued, his voice only slightly lowered.

Hannah threw him another rude glare. “Why would I make it up?”

Zacharias shrugged, looking over as Hermione approached the two. He huffed with another flip of his eyes as she stopped in front of them.

“Sorry,” Hermione said, feeling slightly displaced at the clearly unwelcoming tension coming from Zacharias; he had never been very likable in her book. “I wasn’t listening in--”

“Sure you weren’t,” Zacharias grumbled.

She pursed her lips turning to Hannah, and continued, “Did you say you saw Theodore Nott on your way here?”

“I didn’t lead him here, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Hannah frowned.

Hermione shook her head. “I’m not saying you did,” she assured. “I’m just--you’re sure it was Nott?”

“Why would she make it up?” Zacharias threw back. Both Hermione and Hannah shot him the same irritable look.

“Maybe he didn’t see you?” Hermione pressed on.

Hannah shook her head. “That’s what’s so weird. I know he saw me; he looked me dead in the eye. And then,” she frowned, her nose crunching uncertainly, “he just shook his head and turned back the way he came.”

“Maybe you just think he saw you,” Zacharias offered, rising as Harry called the group to order.

Hannah scowled, getting up as well. “I know what I saw,” she returned, “and I saw him see me. It was weird.”

  
  


_ 6 February _

Hermione looked up as a shadow fell over her parchment, and blinked. Draco, of all people, was standing there, looking irritated, uncertain, and very much out of place.

“Malfoy?” Hermione wondered, glancing around the very open space quickly and hoping Harry and Ron were still off on their so called search for a book. “Can I--”

His pale hand slapped the table, a sheet of parchment underneath it.

Hermione looked down at the paper, recognizing her script, and then back up into Draco’s stormy eyes feeling even more confused.

“You’re so careless,” he muttered, his hand shoving into his pockets. “Can’t you even remember to pick up your own things? Its very rude making others do it for you.”

Hermione blinked at him and then down at the sheet. “I thought I put that in my bag.”

“Not very well,” Draco scowled. “But do you even stop? No; just assume someone will pick it up for you.”

Hermione blinked again. “You picked it up?"

"Clearly," Draco snapped. "Why else would I be standing here?"

Hermione furrowed. "I don’t know; why would you pick it up?”

Draco sneered down at her. “Well next time I’ll just leave it then.”

“No I didn’t mean--” Hermione tried, but Draco was already off.

Hermione frowned as the angry boy stormed away. 

  
  


_ 8 February _

A large tawny owl dropped quite unexpectedly onto the table. It was not the owl that was unexpected, as it was the usual time for weekly mail arrivals, but more so the person of whom it landed in front of.

Hermione blinked at the large brown bird, and then the rather large package it perched on top of. The shipping paper was torn and carelessly resealed, most likely a result of the toad woman’s ritual investigations, but the distinctly sharp handwriting of her mother was still easy to spot. 

“What’s that?” Ron wondered, glancing curiously at the large package while refilling his plate.

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t know,” she answered, dropping a couple sickles into the leather pouch on the bird’s leg and untying the parcel. “Its from my parents.”

  
  
  


_ 11 February _

Hermione nibbled the tip of her quill in deep concentration as she double checked her assignment. Her eyes focused, and then flew sideways as a sudden watchful feeling registered. She glanced backwards discovering Theo, behind Blaise, staring at her. A somewhat troubled frown pulled at his brow.

“You're getting ink all over your mouth,” he muttered in vague distaste.

She blinked, removing the quill from between her teeth and touching her bottom lip where it had been resting.

Theo lifted a brow. “Starving you in Gryffindor?”

Hermione scowled, returning once more to her sheet. It wasn’t her imagination, she eventually concluded, the Slytherins were getting weird.

  
  


_ 12 February _

Hermione sat in her favorite armchair, her secret haven at the farthest corner of the library, staring at the medley of items on her lap. It was her most cherished spot in the whole school, the place she went when she did not want to be bothered by anyone. Rather out of the way, in a small section dedicated to muggle technology, it rarely saw any traffic which made the space an exceptional study location. Except now, instead of studying, Hermione sat blinking at the things on her lap that made absolutely no sense at all.  

She’d forgotten all about the package Monday. In fact, she’d been in search of a hair band when she happened upon the parcel quietly nestled at the bottom, her mother’s neat lettering still decipherable through the torn paper that had held it all together.  

 

_ Sweetheart,  _ it read _ , these were at the house when we returned. Not sure who they’re from, but they came with some lovely owls. Did your friends get new birds? _

_ Your father and I miss you; the holidays just weren’t the same. Hope your studies are going well, and we’ll see you for Easter. _

 

_ Much love, _

_ Mum and Dad _

It was followed by:

_ That scratching excuse you call a quill drives me mad. Now maybe I'll be able to concentrate. Understand, Granger, this is a gift to myself. _

A dark, expensive looking quill had been discovered with the note.

The second item had no letter actually, but was rather a large old book. A familiar book. A rare book Hermione had been eyeing in Diagon Alley since summer, which had most likely been written by the great great uncle of a Death Eater, though that bit was the last thought in Hermione’s head at the moment.

The third note, and quite frankly the most unsettling item of all, was about as divulging on intent as the book with no letter. It read simply:

_ Merry Christmas _

_ x _

_ BZ _

Under it was a box was a lion pendant inside.

The lion had stretched when Hermione first opened the box, walking around its little pillow and watching her expectantly. After some time it stopped, and returned to sleep while Hermione tried to riddle out the--were they gifts?

If her gut was something to go by, they felt like some sort of obscure truce, an apology delayed by the post.

Finally, after a long amount of time, Hermione gave up, her studies effectively lost for the evening, and retired to her bed where, with the curtains closed around her, she fished out the items once more, focusing on the little box with the lion inside.

She picked up the necklace, the lion slowly stilling as she drew it carefully from the box. She touched the lithe metal creature. Perhaps, she thought, she ought to give him a chance.

  
  


_ 13 February _

Blaise, hand stalled over his bag, stared for an exorbitant amount of time before finally speaking. “Sorry?”

Hermione huffed eyes darting up and quickly back down to the stack of books she was taking deliberately long to get in her pack.

“I was wondering,” she repeated, “if you’d like to study together tomorrow?”

Blaise blinked again. That’s what he’d thought she’d said. “This weekend?”

Hermione shot him a sidelong scowl. “Should I draw you a calendar?”

He pressed his lips to keep from laughing at her impatience; she did not do well with impatience. “Tomorrow’s a Hogsmeade day,” he said instead.

A frown crept over her brow. “Is it?” she wondered, her book sliding more slowly into her bag as she counted the days in her head.

He hummed. “You didn’t know?”

She shook her head. “Well as I’m not allowed to leave school grounds anymore,” she answered, suddenly more irritably, “there’s not much point in keeping track of all that, is there.” She shoved her last book in forcefully.

Blaise’s eyes shifted down to the faint scars on her hand, just remembering how Umbridge had revoked her privilege last term. Hermione, catching him, adjusted her sleeves self consciously.

His eyes shifted back up. “But you do know what tomorrow is, don’t you?”

“Look,” Hermione pursed, “if you've already got plans you can just say s--”

“Its St. Valentines.”

Hermione froze, her eyes suddenly large like a deer face to face with its hunter. And then color began to spread across her skin.

“Its--what? Oh,” she stammered. “I didn’t--no. No. Forget I--”

Blaise grinned. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Granger,” he said, walking off before she had the chance to take it all back. “You better not stand me up.”


	10. Valentine's

_14 February_

Hermione stopped at the corridor junction, her stomach immediately growing nauseated. She'd convinced herself the previous evening that this thing, studying together, wasn't actually going to be that bad. It was just the same as any day of class. In fact, she thought, it gave her a good opportunity to bring up that necklace, and on that whim she had brought it with her, intention well at hand. Now however, as the library grew closer, Hermione’s confidence began to wane.

She couldn’t say where exactly her courage had run off, only that each step brought with it quite a queasy stir in her gut and she didn’t know how much more twisting she could take. Her mind flustered and fretted in protest to her heavy feet, throwing out rather tempting ideas that she’d have been much better off spending the day under her bed.

Maybe it wasn’t too late.

Blaise stood in front of the library when she finally arrived. His bag lay carelessly at his feet while he leaned against the wall opposite the doors. He looked up at the first sound of her, and then it was too late to run away.

“I was beginning to wonder about that Gryffindor courage,” he teased, though Hermione thought she heard a bit of relief, too.

“Were you here long?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Shall we?” and led the way into the library.

Madam Pence openly stared and, Hermione thought, also sent some silent inquiries on her well being as Blaise took them past her desk all the way until Hermione couldn’t see the old librarian around the bookcases anymore. And then Blaise continued further, seeming in pursuit of the most out of the way table he could find.

Maybe he didn’t want anyone to see them together either, she thought as they passed the muggle literature section. Or maybe it was for somewhere no one would look if she ended up missing.

“Oh, stop it,” Hermione chided herself.

“Did you say something?”

She sputtered as Blaise came to a stop.

“Just thoughts.”

She smiled at his curious look, which seemed much too privy to the raucous state inside her mind. For a moment she almost thought he could see it.

Blaise slid around the table, a slightly troubled frown stealing his face as Hermione took the chair opposite.

“Can I ask you something,” he said, watching as she fidgeted with the back. “You don’t really look like you want to be here.”

Hermione snorted.

Of course she didn’t want to be here; she was sitting in a snake’s pit--which she’d stupidly walked herself into--and sweet Merlin only knew what horror was about to befall. Good idea? And on Valentine’s no less; really, what had she been thinking? Should have faked ill and sent an owl.

She had half a mind to tell him some horribly thought excuse, put that damn necklace on the table, and spend the rest of the day examining the quiet of her room.

“Is that a question?” Hermione smarted instead.

Blaise folded his arms. “Why’d you ask to study together if you didn’t really want to?”

“I never said I didn’t want to study,” Hermione argued.

“Just not with me.”

“I never said that.”

Blaise smiled, but it looked more disbelieving than assured.

Hermione huffed dropping into her seat.

“I’m going to work on Charms,” she said, and dove into her bag.

Blaise studied her a moment more before doing the same. It was quiet after that for a very long while.

 

To Hermione’s greatest surprise, Blaise actually worked. He didn’t talk at all once he began, much less acknowledge her. In fact the only sounds that came from his side of the table were those of scratching quills and shuffling pages. Hermione, on the other hand, couldn’t quite say the same.

It was very distracting, she found, sitting with him. At least in class there were others nearby. It might not have been her first choice of seating, but it was at least workable. This was just nerve wracking.

Hermione found herself glancing at him more so than not, unsure what exactly to think. On one hand, her friends’ words, belied by her own cautionary sentiment, echoed a constant string of warnings against the Slytherin. On the other, she couldn’t actually recall him ever acting like a Slytherin except perhaps for a short stint near the start of the year. The little gift box just visible inside her bag only furthered the curiosity resting on that other hand.

She frowned, stealing another look across the table.

Blaise twirled his quill lazily round his fingers as he flipped through a book. The motion slowed as his eyes grew keener. His teeth stilled in their pattern over his bottom lip, and his brow knit slightly. He shifted and Hermione looked down quickly. She shook her head and looked back up to discover him watching her now as well.

“Yes?”

Hermione fumbled over her sheet, her face heating at the exposure of her voyeurism.

Blaise smirked. “Its alright, Granger,” he said, grabbing a second book from his pile of texts. “I think its cute the way you keep checking me out.”

That made her look up. “I wasn’t!”

Blaise just grinned as he scribbled something down.

“I wasn’t looking at _you_ ,” Hermione flustered, “I was just looking that way.” She pointed to her parchment, which really did not have nearly enough work on it for the amount of time that had passed, and added, “I do that sometimes to think.”

“No you don’t.”

Hermione blinked across the table.

“You chew your quill or talk to yourself,” Blaise went on. “And when you’re really on a thought your forehead gets all scrunched up.” He pointed to her. “Yes, like that.”

Hermione frowned as a hand cautiously touched the curls behind her ear.

“You do that when you’re nervous.”

“I do not,” she snapped.

“Whatever you say, Granger.”

Hermione folded her arms deftly. “How would you even know?”

Blaise titled his head, as if he thought her question mute. “I’ve sat next to you since the start of the year. I’ve noticed some things.”

“So?” Hermione needled. “I’ve shared the same desk and I don’t know your habits.”

“I know,” he mumbled, returning to his book. “Like I said, you don’t watch people when you’re thinking. We don’t exist when you’re in your head.”

Hermione frowned. “That’s not true.”

“Yes it is.” He glanced over at her scarce parchment. “I should go.”

“Go?” Hermione frowned. “You finished already?”

“No, but I’m clearly bothering you.”

“I never said you were bothering me.”

Blaise watched her disbelievingly. Something in his frown brought a pinch of guilt to Hermione’s thoughts.

She scowled. “You’re the one who wanted to study together.”

“So if you didn’t, why’d you ask,” he challenged.

“Well if I’d realized the day--” Hermione bit her cheek feeling a new flush creep over her.

Blaise furrowed.

“The day? What, Valentine’s?” He coughed leaning back in his chair. “Is that why you’ve been sitting here looking like this helpless lost lamb?”

Hermione glared across the table. “I have not,” she grimaced. “And I didn’t want to give off the wrong impression.”

“Oh, you mean sitting at the back of the library isn’t a date?” Blaise teased.

“That’s not what I said.”

“I mean,” he continued, rolling a suggestive shoulder, “if you wanted a date, you should have just asked. I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

“I didn’t say--”

Blaise laughed holding up his hands.

“You’re too much sometimes, Granger,” he grinned.

Hermione scowled at the cheeky boy, a mix of vexation and embarrassment. She just had to open her big mouth; should have just let him leave.

“Wouldn’t you have rather spent the day in Hogsmeade?” she glowered, picking at the threads of her cardigan. “I know I would.”

“We could go, if you want.”

She clicked her teeth.

“Right,” Blaise winked. “You don’t don’t break rules.”

“Isn’t there someone you want to spend Valentine’s with?” 

“Yes.”

Hermione blinked, not expecting such a blunt return, and frowned. “Why didn’t you ask her out instead?”

“I didn’t think she’d say yes.”

“Did you even ask?”

He shrugged, rocking slowly back on his chair. “I didn’t want to hear her say no.”

What a silly reason, she thought. “Who would say no to you?”

Blaise shot her a curious look, and Hermione realized she’d said that wrong. She shook her head furiously, backtracking her words as the cunning smile crept slowly back across his face.

“That is,” she sputtered, “what I meant was, who knows, she might fancy--”

Blaise dropped forward, leering over the table. “Would you say yes?”

Hermione shook her head vehemently, sure the vessels in her cheeks would burst this time. Oh good Merlin, why didn’t she just let him leave?

“You sure,” Blaise goaded, grinning now like a mad man, “I could have sworn that’s what you were saying.”

“I was just making a comment,” Hermione flustered, berating herself in her head.

Blaise hummed. “Does that comment come with any fantasies?”

She would die of utter mortification, she was sure of it.

Blaise chuckled, shaking his head as he returned to the far side of his chair. “Why not?”

Hermione huffed, crossing her arms in front of her. “Does that matter?”

“Humor me.”

“We’re supposed to be studying.”

He tilted his head, shooting a very implicating glance to her still empty parchment. Hermione grimaced.

“Because,” she snipped, making a large show of examining her textbook, “we’re too different.”

“How so?”

“You mean besides the fact that I’m muggleborn?”

Blaise shook his head. “Is that some kind of deal breaker?”

“It is in your book.” 

“No, its not.”

Hermione shot him a withering look which Blaise returned before dropping his eyes to the table.

“Its not anymore,” he frowned.

Hermione watched as troubled lines slowly etched across his heavy brow. They were far too stark a change from his just playful banter. She furrowed, feeling slightly displaced at his stark change.

“I don’t care, you know,” she said. “I don’t even mind being called a mudblood.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I don’t,” she insisted. “Its just a word.”

“But I do.”

Blaise shook his head, a tense hand pushing back on his hair.

“I should never have called you that,” he muttered angrily. “No one should. You don’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

Hermione bit her lip, her courage stirring slightly. In a moment of daring, she took the little box with the lion inside from her bag and set it on the table between them.

“Is that what this is? An apology?”

Blaise shifted in his chair, a careful mask settling in as he looked from the little box to her and back.

“I wasn’t home for holiday,” Hermione explained. “So I only just received it. I wasn’t being rude.”

Blaise shrugged, looking off down the aisle. “I figured you didn't like it.”

“I--” Hermione frowned. “You know, while I appreciate the sentiment--and really, I do--just because you all suddenly grew a conscience doesn’t mean I’m the place to relieve your guilt on.”  

“That’s not why I got it.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “And its not why you wanted to study together either, I’m sure.”

“Really,” Blaise insisted. “I’m much too selfish for that.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, glancing down at the little box. “Well what did you want me to make of this, then?”

Blaise shrugged. “Do you like it?”

Hermione shook her head. “That’s not an answer.”

“So you don’t like it.”

“Stop putting words in my mouth!” She scowled as his arrogant smirk.

“Well if you like it,” he lulled, lifting the dancing lion out to examine, “you should wear it.”

He rolled the lion slowly between his fingers, and then, without warning, pressed the creature to his lips. He grinned watching Hermione’s eyes widen from the action.

“For good luck,” he said. “So now you have to wear it. Will you?”

Hermione furrowed, her throat feeling rather dry all of a sudden.

“I can put it on for you,” Blaise offered as he undid the chain.

Somewhere Hermione’s brain noted she’d forgotten a breath, but her mind had become hyper aware to only the quiet boy staring back at her.

“I just want to see if I’m right.”

“Right?”

He nodded. “That it’d look good on you.”

He didn’t actually wait for Hermione to give an answer. Instead Blaise stood, leaning carefully across the table with a look that seemed to say, please don’t stop me. Even more surprising, Hermione realized, was that she found herself leaning slightly forward as well.

She stilled as his arms reached her and then behind, the exposed skin prickling at her neck where his fingers brushed it slightly. She glanced up once only to decide it far safer to just watch his chest as his own eyes studied her far too intensely for her to want to stare back. It felt like the longest moment of her life, and then suddenly the shortest as his hands retreated away.

Blaise paused, the heat from his hand radiating on her ear. Hermione was nearly certain he would fix her hair, at least it was what his eyes said he would do, but instead he adjusted the chain and quickly retreated back to the far side of the table.

“Well?” Hermione said, the steadiness in her voice completely foreign to the knot of nerves in her belly.

Blaise cocked his head, eyes bright as he watched her curiously.

“Well I like it,” he said. And then he smiled, a real smile, and Hermione didn't think she'd ever actually seen him smile before. But it was a very pleasant smile. It made him look warm.

“Alright then,” and she took up her quill and really focused on her books. She did not get any work done that Saturday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Such a late update! Life has been crazy though, so the updates may be a bit more delayed for a bit. I promise I will finish this work though! Thank you guys for keeping up with the story!


	11. February: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time coming, but here's the next chapter. New year's resolution: post more often... We'll see what happens.
> 
> Updated 30/1/17: Added a date, 17 Feb

 

* * *

_14 February_

Blaise looked up at the sporadic shuffling product of the girl whom, up until that moment, had been silently reading across from him. Hermione inspected her wristwatch while she fumbled her notes, sorting them into disorganized piles between her open texts and shoving the lot into her pack.

“Harry and Ron were expecting me ages ago. Oh, I hope they’re not looking for me.”

As if an afterthought, she looked at Blaise. He thought perhaps she intended to say something more in the way her lips opened and closed, but no words came and instead she made faster work of packing.

“Did you tell them we were studying together?” he asked as Hermione gathered her borrowed books.

She laughed before a hand caught her mouth. “No,” she apologized. “I didn’t think they would--”

“Approve?”

“Understand,” she finished with a withered glance that deceitfully revealed more guilt than he thought she meant to show.

He shrugged. “You go ahead. I’ll take care of the books.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but thinking better of it, bobbed her head and left. Blaise let out a sigh. He didn’t know why, but there was suddenly a bad taste in his mouth.

With quick work of his promised obligations, Blaise took his own things and went as well. He nodded to the old librarian who still stared skeptically as he passed, pushed open the heavy doors of the library, and stopped. 

Hermione turned impatiently, twisting the sleeves of her sweater while her shoes worried a path into the ground. She stilled at the sigh of the door, her large eyes shining again like the deer that could see its hunter.

“Oh, erm,” she stuttered, fiddling with the new decoration around her neck.

Blaise let the heavy door return to its jam. “Miss me already?” he teased.

“No!" She scowled at his grin. "I just thought I might have left something behind.”

“You didn’t.”

“Oh." Her voice lilted in tell tale lie. "Well, alright then.”

She nodded with every intention to actually leave this time before turning back around.

“Would you want to do this again?" Hermione rushed with a breath. "Study together.”

Blaise couldn't help but wonder if this was pity or interest on her part. He hoped it wasn’t pity, the patrician in him would never reach so low--though if Blaise were being completely honest, he’d stopped caring about his image some time ago.

He nodded. “Same time next week?”

  


_16 February_

“Agh.”

Harry looked to the common room entrance where Ron moaned his way in. The currently disheveled half of his best friends glared across to the other hard at work behind her pair of knitting needles.

“You’re not still trying to dress up the house elves are you?” he moped, looking at the needles with rue.

“Don’t take out your bad practice on her,” Ginny said coming in after him. She glanced at Hermione briefly then Harry before shuffling on up to the girls’ dormitories. Harry looked sideways unsurprised to find Hermione unaware of the behavior, or perhaps uncaring; the two girls had been off about each other for a good bit of time now. He was beginning to think he should intervene.

Ron scowled. “I’m not. I’m just saying give it a rest. The whole tower’s a mess because they’re boycotting you and your bloody socks.”

“This isn’t a sock, its a scarf,” Hermione returned, “and if you’re really so bothered maybe you should clean up a bit. Who knows, you might just learn to appreciate the work they do.”

“I appreciate it. I appreciate it more when they do it themselves.”

Hermione huffed sliding another loop across her needles as Ron stormed off to the boys’ showers.

Harry eyed the twisting wool. “Gave up on the socks then?”

The busy witch shook her head as she counted over her work. “These are gifts.”

“Oh?”

Trite eyes cut sideways. “They're not for you,” she grumbled to the nervousness in his voice, “so no need to look so worried. Honestly.”

Harry sheepishly grinned as Hermione grabbed her wand. “No, I think its great. I’d love a scarf from you.”

“Expect one for your birthday, then.”

He frowned rubbing his head as she tapped the yarn and took up her knitting once more. He’d ask her about Ginny later, Harry amended, when she wasn’t armed with needles and magic.

  


_17 February_

“Hate to say this, love, but sneaking is not your career.”

Hermione jumped at the phantom voice ambling within the shadows. She looked to the wall opposite Barnabas the Barmy and then quickly away, her mind demanding the enchanted room please stay hidden. Blaise paused, his own eyes sliding over to the empty wall.

“Its here isn’t it,” he gaped, a hand reaching out for the stones in wonder.

Hermione absolved to answer, chin set high in firm negation. Despite whatever betterment may have recently bartered between them, she did not trust this Slytherin with the whereabouts of her friends. She especially did not trust the pin proudly fastened to his chest.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

Blaise did not sway. “Where is it?” he asked really examining the wall this time. Long fingers etched between the stones trying to feel for a tell.

“You look ridiculous, Zabini,” Hermione frowned.

He acknowledged her with a cunning smirk as he stepped back to take in the whole wall.

“Don't tell me then, I'll just wait. They'll have to come out sooner or later.”  

He propped beside the painted canvas, arms folded in challenge.

Just brilliant, her mind chastised, as she said aloud, “I hope you enjoy staring at the walls then.”

Hermione rubbed the enchanted coin in her pocket wishing she’d forethought to include the ability to message caution. She warily eyed the discomfiting boy. Perhaps if she left he would give up and go as well. The voice in her head, the most reasonable part of her, thought it best; he had never appeared very enthralled in Umbridge's brigade, he likely wouldn’t follow through with his stipulations. However, the other voice, the one that worried too much and cared too deeply, pointed out that she did not know him well enough to assume such things. For all she knew he would wait, and then the entirety of her friends would be reprimanded on account of her.

A sly grin slowly stretched the Slytherin’s lips. “Of course you could try to persuade me otherwise.”

Hermione subconsciously rubbed the scar on her hand. “With?”

“Your company.”

Her mouth twisted uncertainly.

“Come on, Granger.” He said it like a challenge, his eyes shining mischievously. “Where's that Gryffindor courage I hear so much about?”

To Hermione's great surprise, Blaise did not wait for an answer. Instead, clearly assuming she must accept, he took off down the corridor. Hermione stood a moment, a funny feeling flipping over her stomach. It would be very easy to run away.

Glancing briefly at the empty wall and then the path behind her, Hermione followed the quiet boy. If ever asked, she would swear it was after long consideration and for the betterness of her friends that she took the bait. If nothing else, she had to ensure the integrity of Gryffindor.

Blaise said nothing when she met him on the stairwell; he didn't need to, his smile said it all.

“Where are we going?” Hermione asked a little too sharply. Her nerves checked her voice.

“Come and you’ll find out.” She watched uncertainly as he began down the stairwell. “Your confidence is something to rival, Granger,” his voice echoed up.

Hermione didn't dare comment on her thoughts in the matter somehow feeling he might offend at her lack of trust in snakes. Instead she continued down, eyes every now and again looking back at the security of where she had been. It was at the start of the flight into the dungeons that Hermione finally stopped.

This was not a safe idea, her mind furiously berated. Blaise must have anticipated her reaction for he turned then with a contesting grin.

“You know,” he lulled, “I have no doubts you could best me in a duel, so you don’t have to look so scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Hermione snapped.

“Good.” His eyes said clearly, go ahead then.

For the second time that night, and despite all trepidation, Hermione took his bait. While she did not see the smug look behind her she did see a worrisome unknown as the dungeon floor came into view.

She jumped when Blaise slipped past, hand catching her arm as though asking her to wait for him to clear the area. Everything that point forward made her jumpy: every stop, every sound, every shadow. Finally when she realized how close they were to the Slytherin Commons Hermione had enough.

“I won’t take another step without knowing where I’m being led,” she demanded, arms folding deftly.

Blaise merely shrugged and continued around the bend. 

The place turned colder in his absence. Hermione looked around the dark hall, its stones seeming to suck all light into them. A torch danced nearby, its flicker barely touching the shadows that paraded the night. Chatter, whether voices or something else, pricked her ears, though where they came from and where they were going stayed a mystery. She shook herself, gripped her wand, and turned ready to return back to safety.

“Found your bravery then?”

Hermione grimaced as she rounded the corner. She glared at the boy lounging barely an arm’s reach away, but before she could rebut he pushed open a door and revealed a scene outside the realms of imagination. In a flash anxiety lost to enrapture.

Hermione stepped into the little room where empty bottles and boxes rested in teetering piles upon high shelves. Old texts found cozy homes among the desks against a far wall, and a board bore the remnants of a lesson long past. These were not the things she saw. Instead Hermione looked to the long window at the back, not tall, but wide and currently alight with little rounded fish walking on skinny legs. They hopped across the submerged ledge, wide mouths sucking up the snails trailing the glass and kelp.

“Is that the lake?”

Blaise nodded coming up beside her, though Hermione did not see in her wonder.

“I didn’t know there were plimpies in the lake.” She touched the glass where one squatted, its little legs pushing desperately on the window as its mouth worked to pry off a snail.

“You’d be surprised by what’s in that lake.”

The plimpy hopped off frightfully before swimming back to berate her intrusion of its task. Hermione laughed.

“So was it worth it?”

She acknowledged him then realizing he meant him; was it worth trusting him. As though a test, Blaise reached for the thin chain around her neck carefully loosing the pendant beneath her jumper. The lion animated at his touch, rolling playfully into a new pose before he let it return to place. Hermione blinked as the little things traipsed along her middle.

She looked back to the round fish smiling when a different and much larger eye peeked through the kelp forest at her. “I suppose there are some points.”

  


_18 February_

Draco stopped in front of his desk to behold the ugliest mix of colored knots he had ever seen. Similar scenes decorated Theo’s and Blaise’s spots as well.

Hermione, from her chair, turned with a brisk, “thank you,” before searching out the front of the room once more.

Draco stared at the offending mangle of wool while Theo poked at his.

“What in good Merlin’s name did you kill and put on my desk, Mudblood?”

Hermione bristled, her bush of hair ruffling as she twisted in her seat with a tight smile. “Its a thank you gift, Malfoy. That’s why I said thank you.”

Draco sneered as unruly curls returned to view. “You call this a gift?”

“I call it a scarf.”

Blaise coughed into his fist, avoiding the other’s foul glare. Draco returned to the mangy heap that was indeed nothing close to any scarf he'd ever seen.

“A scarf,” he whined. “Do I look like one of those weasels that cares for such rubbish?”

“No,” Hermione returned. “You look like a ferret.”

Theo laughed, and Draco shoved him as the hairy nest twisted around once more.

“Look,” Hermione said on a long breath, “I’m trying to say thank you for all the Christmas gifts.” She held up a familiar quill. “You shouldn’t have. Really,” she emphasized, “you shouldn’t have, but it meant a lot to know you thought of me.”

“You mean to tell me it took you this long to find this shitty attempt at gratitude,” he grumbled. “And I wasn’t thinking of you.”

Her smile vanished. “I made them.”

Draco frowned at the knot of wool.

“So if you don't like it,” Hermione continued, “I’ll just take it back.”

She reached for the knitting but he snatched it quickly away. “You can’t just give a gift and take it back,” Draco snapped, shoving the scarf into his bag. “Don’t mudbloods have any manners?”

Hermione blinked, her mouth slowly pressing into a hard line. “You’re just incorrigible!” She grimaced, swinging back to the front of the room with angry mutters of lousy ferrets and wasted time.

Draco shoved again a sniggering Nott as his eyes dropped to the mange of color peeking out of his pack. He didn't care for it, he told himself, it was just the principle.

  


_20 February_

Adrian grinned at the grey eyes standing by the  other side of the changing room. They did not look happy for his attention.

“I swear Montague’s preparing us for a war with these practices,” he said to Draco inviting himself to the other's company back up to the castle.

The boy shrugged. “Ravenclaw did win their last game.”

“Against Hufflepuff. They’re not much of a challenge now they’ve lost Diggory.” He laughed brushing off the judgement coming his way. “What, even if he hadn’t died its not like he’d still be here. They should have recruited better.”

Draco hummed looking as if he wished to outrun the other as he jumped the stairs to the castle. It made the twist of Adrian’s mouth spread wider.

“To be honest,” he went on, “I didn’t think Ravenclaw would win considering they put that slag in charge of the snitch. I’m surprised she could even see it between all her tears. Is she with Scarhead now?”

“I don’t know,” the moody boy mumbled throwing open the doors of the west wing.

“Didn't you say you saw them together in Hogsmeade?”

Draco huffed irritably.

“Speaking of Gryffindors, what’s going on in Arithmancy?”

The blond boy finally stopped turning to a wicked grin, taunting and malicious. It hinted of darker things.

“What about Arithmancy?” Draco challenged.

Adrian took the lead this time. “Nothing,” he ebbed, hopping down the stairs to the dungeons. “That mudblood just looks quite cozy at the front is all.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t aware my lessons came second to harassing dirt.”

“I wasn’t aware you were harassing her at all. It looks more chummy from where I sit.”

“Who asked you to sit so far away?”

“Right.”

Draco glared at the boy below him. “If you have something to say, say it.”

Adrian laughed throwing his hands up with a smugness that enjoyed finding the right nerve. “No harm, mate,” he leered. “I’m only looking out for my friends. People like us need to stick together.”

“Like us?”

“Who know the truth and are willing to fight for it.” He took as step up with every intention to take the space. “It wouldn’t do to start hanging around mudbloods and blood traitors now. Wouldn’t want your father to hear about that.”

“Be careful the accusations you throw, Pucey,” Draco growled with his own advance. “You might just hit the wrong person.”

He grinned retreating back to the dungeons. “We’ll see.”

  


_21 February_

A splay of books long forgotten sat listening to the gleeful voices whispering above them. Hermione sighed looking down at her wrist for the numeranth time.

“We really should get going. Curfew will be starting soon.”

“No elicit lessons this evening?” Blaise teased.

“None you’re invited to.”

He chuckled, following her lead. “That’s not very Gryffindor of you.”

“As I recall, don’t you have your own obligations? Brown nosing for toads and the like?”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind my absence for one night.”

Hermione shook her head.

“I can walk you to your commons.”

“Good night, Zabini.”

“Hermione.”

Hermione paused, surprise blinking out of her eyes. The little curls which had loosened from the knot pooled atop her head danced impishly along her cheeks. The lightest touch of color could be found there, remnants of her laughter. His fingers burned with a want to push those curls out of the way, but he declined the follow through certain other wants would come to protest their own rewards, like the one hanging around her lips.

“What is it?” Hermione asked impatiently. “Before Pince comes back and throws us out herself.”

He shook his head. “Good night.”

She frowned, irritation blurring the surprise still bright in her eyes, but turned and hurried off towards Gryffindor tower. Blaise took the other way down to his nightly extracurricular. He quickly regretted not taking the night off. Almost immediately his good mood vanished, replaced with something less than appealed by the ugly sneer that waited for him on the other side of Umbridge’s classroom door.

“Lose track of time in the slums?” his blond friend hissed.

Blaise shot the rude boy a glare, but didn't waste time responding. It wasn't a comment worth a response.

“You're playing with fire,” Draco continued under his breath as Umbridge gave the evening’s assignments. “And I for one will not be beside you when those flames catch.”

“It's funny, but I don't recall asking you to care.”

Draco made a sound too coarse for laughter as he took the Inquisitor’s proffered slip. He waited until they were released to the halls, Theo pulling flank with little stake in the discussion, before continuing.

“I don't care about _you_. I care about my name, and you chasing along after some mudblood isn't good for it.”

“Watch it, Malfoy.”

“Well its true,” Draco pressed. “Dirty blood or not, she is still a mudblood, and it's about time you start remembering that.”

“Stop using that word.”

Theo sighed at needing to quicken his pace so to match the two barreling up the stairs ahead of him.

“Do you know Adrian’s asking about you?”

“Is that where this is coming from?” Blaise scowled. “Why don't you tell Pucey to mind his own damn business for once.”

“Because Pucey isn't the problem,” Draco snapped back. “I'm just curious, how far do you plan to let this go; til the whole house realizes your intentions?”

“Oh, you know my intentions now?” Blaise wondered, hopping the steps past his friend.

Draco growled after. “A bloody troll could tell your intentions. In fact, the only person I think who doesn’t seem to see it is that damn mudblood herself.”

“Stop using that word. I mean it.”

“So do I.” Draco forced them all to a stop. He grabbed Blaise’s shoulder, whispering viciously, “Your mother's marrying Avery in little over a month. Wise up, Zabini. Before you hurt her. Or yourself.”

“Oi,” Theo finally broke in. “Will you two hens save your clucking for a better place? The whole castle doesn't need to hear how soft you two are.”

He shot both a fed up glare before taking the final flight up to his assigned hall.

  


_23 February_

Hermione stopped at her doorway startled to discover the youngest of the Weasleys outside her room. She smiled politely. “Headed to DA?”

Ginny nodded, idled a moment, and then said, “Should we go together?”

The two left in a very stilted silence. The awkward quiet hung nearly the whole way before Ginny spoke again.

“How's Arithmancy?”

Hermione glanced at the younger girl. “Alright.”

“And Zabini?”

Hermione hesitated longer this time her eyes darting over suspiciously. “Alright.”

Ginny nodded as she checked around a corner, okaying the corridor for passage. It was quiet again until they were nearly at the Room of Requirement.

“Do you fancy him?”

Hermione choked. “What?”

Ginny stopped in the shadows near the hidden door looking the other over. “He fancies you.” Her tone left little room for discussion.

Hermione laughed, the sound stilted and quite horribly out of place. She looked at the empty wall just a few steps shy of producing the doorway that would save her from this unwanted conversation. “I think you're mistaken.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.” Little knots tumulted around her belly.

“Well for two people not interested you both certainly ogle at each other a lot.”

“I don’t ogle!”

Ginny folded her arms in a spot on replication of her matriarch. Her mouth tipped sideways. “Do you not trust me?”

“Now that’s not fair,” Hermione scowled. “Just because there isn't anything to say doesn't mean I don't trust you. We’ve studied twice and share a table; its hardly worth talking about. But since you brought it up; yes, I do prefer this over our previous dispositions to be perfectly honest, and the last time you and I had this conversation I may as well have been talking to Ron.”

Ginny pouted. “So you did say yes.”

“Ginny!”

“Well forgive me for caring.” Hermione flipped her eyes. “I mean is it really that off to question a Slytherin?”

“This is exactly what I didn’t want to hear.”

“I’m just saying--”

“Ginny!”

“Alright, fine,” the younger girl conceded. “But you still haven't answered my question.”

“And what question is that?”

“Do you fancy him?”

Heat filled Hermione's cheeks. “Oh, we’re going to be late,” she said, grabbing Ginny's hand in league of the entrance.

The younger witch smirked. “I knew it.”

  


_25 February_

She was wearing the necklace again today, except it was not a good thing. Hermione had caught the chain between her teeth pulling it slowly as she read, which in turn stirred a very different kind of excitement in Blaise than previous sightings had expunged. He shook his head hoping the motion would uproot the rougher thoughts suddenly rousing there. It did not.

“What are you, a goat?” a different voice spat.

Both Hermione and Blaise jumped nearly identically at Draco’s proclamation. The glaring boy shot the latter a horrible sneer.

“Do you even know where that’s been?”

Hermione furrowed a moment before wide eyes flew left. The little lion dropped to its low place on her chest. It gleamed as though taunting Blaise with its good privilege.

Theo smirked, leaning forward. “First quills now chains,” he muttered to the boy in front of him, “I wonder what’s next.”

“Oh, shove off,” Hermione snapped as Blaise reluctantly dragged his eyes away from the foul chain.

  


_27 February_

Hermione stood from her place at the Gryffindor table excusing herself from the Great Hall. Blaise stood up as well.

“Where are you going?” Pansy preened in front of him. She eyed his plate dubiously. “You haven't even eaten yet.”

He glared down at her impatiently. “I didn't realize I needed your consent to use the loo. Do I need your attendance as well?”

The puggly girl scowled. She flipped her hair returning interest to Draco, the latter of whom shot Blaise a more knowing, and less approving, look.

He glanced at the doorway catching sight of that unmistakable twist of hair. “Better hurry up before someone decides to take the piss out of you.”

Pansy frowned, turning between the two as if she were missing something. “Draco?”

He shrugged her off while the other left the hall. Blaise caught sight of Hermione turning the corridor towards the dungeons as a few older Slytherins came around.

“Zabini,” one of them greeted as the group passed. He nodded, finding an unexpected difficulty in keeping his feet from sprinting off. The corridor never felt so long.

Those familiar curls appeared again making their way to the dungeon stairwell. Blaise quickly closed the distance, smirking as he came up behind her.

“Good evening.”

Hermione jumped spinning wildly with her wand raised. She scowled as recognition came, but before she could speak Blaise grabbed her hand and pulled her to a nearby room.

“Are you mad!” Hermione gasped as he closed the door behind them. “What are you doing sneaking up on people?”

“What are you doing sneaking around the dungeons?”

“I have a question about potions, thank you,” she returned irritably. Blaise shrugged glancing down at their linked hands. Hers looked much smaller inside his, and were even softer than he remembered. Hermione pulled away, tucking them up nervously around her sides.

“Did you need something?” she asked.

“Are we meeting tomorrow?”

She furrowed. “I thought your house plays tomorrow.”

“I didn't plan to go. Did you?”

Hermione chewed her lower lip, a culpable bend ailing her brow.

Blaise frowned. “If you're busy--”

“Its just,” she began, “I thought you’d want to--well, I promised Ron I’d help him with his essay.”

Blaise soured at her friend's mention. He hugged his own chest flipping his eyes to the ceiling. “What, Weasley can’t hold the quill himself or something?”

“Excuse you,” Hermione snipped. Her brow knit in some silent question, one which Blaise answered with an unapologetic shrug, as she continued, “I suppose I could ask him to meet Sunday instead.”

“I don't see why you should meet him at all,” he said, scuffing the floor. “I’d wager he likely expects you to just write it for him.”

“Stop it,” Hermione snapped. “Ron is my friend, and I don’t appreciate you bad mouthing him.”

Blaise studied her a moment watching heat subtly fill her cheeks. “Are we friends?” He quickly shook his head, knowing he didn't want to know that answer just yet. “I don’t want to study. Let’s do something else.”

Hermione blinked, laughed, and finally frowned at him. “What?”

“Come on,” he ebbed. “We could go exploring again, or talk, get to know each other.”

“Talk,” Hermione repeated with a funny twitch of her nose. “Talk about what?”

“I don’t know; isn’t that point of talking,” he reproached. “To find things in common to talk about?”

“We can talk and work at the same time.”

Blaise shook his head.

“Our O.W.L.s are coming up,” Hermione reminded looking lost between hilarity and displeasure.

“Not any time soon.”

“Oh,” she scoffed. “In that case why not just wait to the last minute.”

Blaise smirked. “If you think that’s best.”

He tipped his head, a strange surge of confidence deciding to test the limits of his place. He stepped forward, smiling softly as he reached out a hand for her cheek.

“Please Hermione?” he pleaded, his fingers lingering on a ringlet, teasing it. It too was softer than he thought it would be.

Hermione blinked back. The smallest frown disrupted her forehead as the familiar look of caution spilled across her face. Still, a cocky voice in his head lapped the fact that she did not pull away.

“No,” she pronounced in a quiet but firm tone. “If we’re not studying then I might as well help Ron.”

Blaise dropped his hand. He couldn’t decide if he felt like laughing or not. He wanted to send a right curse Weasley’s way.

“Fine,” he said. “But I’ll only work in here then.”

Hermione made a funny face looking around the room. “Here? Why?”

“Because we’re compromising.”

“Wouldn't that be against a decree or something?”

Dark eyes raked her slowly so to say he did not buy her reasoning. “If the work’s getting done does it really matter where?”

Hermione frowned but did not argue back.

Blaise smirked. “Our usual time then?”

“Alright.”

“And Hermione?”

She gasped as he sprung the loose curl.

Blaise winked feeling both adolescent and proud of the act. “I’ve wanted to do that all year,” he confessed before walking out of the room.

  


_28 February_

They were not studying. In fact, the exact extent to which they had studied amounted to opening their books before Blaise somehow managed to steal the time away for other things like talking and laughter. Currently the wistful boy lounged on a desk against the far wall lively recalling a story that Hermione was nearly sure Theo would kill him for ever accounting to her. She laughed anyway, holding her sides at the warm ache building from their fun.

“You're lying!”

“Am not,” Blaise grinned back. “In nothing but his pants up on that ledge bellowing for one of them to carry him away. Lady Parkinson looked mortified for him.” He shook his head. “I swear that idiot would have jumped were it not for his father.”

“Ron was the same when he saw the veelas, too,” Hermione divulged. “Although he stayed dressed.”

Blaise snorted. “Why am I not surprised?”

She smacked her teeth. “And you? What was your reaction to their song?”

“Do I look like I'd react?”

“Yes.”

Blaise smirked wickedly. “Well I managed to keep me clothes on if that’s what you’re imagining.”

A burst of color stole across Hermione’s face, and she stuttered.

“Merlin’s beard, Granger,” he teased. “Who knew you had such a mind.”

“That’s not what I meant at all!”

“But I'd wager you're imagining it now. Well well, Hermione.”

“Blaise Zabini, I swear--what?” Hermione furrowed. He wore a strange look all of a sudden, a new type of excitement much gidier than simply teasing.

Blaise shrugged. “You should use that more often,” and then elaborated, “my name." 

Hermione gave him a funny look.

“Oh come on, you never say it.”

“I have.”

“Never.” Something mischievous caught his eye. He leaned forward on his desk shooting her a grin she was sure he worked on in the mirror. “Say it again.”

Hermione scrunched her nose. "No."

It only prompted him to move right off his table and across the short distance to where Hermione perched. She sat up taller as he took her hand, giving her the most pathetic, well placed look she’d ever seen.

“Indulge me.”

Hermione rolled her eyes as the little light things plucked over her insides. “Blaise. Are you happy?”

His grin widened. “One more time might do the trick.”

“Tough luck, Zabini.”

Blaise huffed, head dropping in mock defeat. “I thought Gryffindors weren’t supposed to be cruel.”

“You should talk to whomever told you that lie.”

He laughed, watching his thumb draw a pattern onto the back of her hand. His eyes grazed up, that same temptatious intensity shining there from before, and suddenly Hermione was very aware of just how close he was. He laced his fingers with hers stepping closer still as his other hand reached across for her cheek.

Hermione jumped off the desk.

“We really should start working,” she said examining her wrist. Her voice sounded strangely high and foreign in her ears. “I’ll need to go soon.”

She bustled to their abandoned books making quite a show of looking through her bag. It was better than watching the other side of the room whose scene traded her little light things for a sallower feeling of uncertainty.

Blaise tapped at her vacant spot, a tinge of disappointment hiding under his empty smirk. “Can I ask you something?”

Hermione shook her head refusing to look up. “Not unless its about an assignment. No more distractions.”

Blaise stared a long time before finally letting out a low breath. A tense hand pushed along his hair. “As you say, Granger.”


	12. March: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keeping with my new year's plan, here's a new chapter. Originally I was going to make March one whole spiel, but there happens to be a lot of plot in this month so....well, here you are.

_1 March_

Hermione Granger wasn't daft, and to pretend to be otherwise was an insult to her very name. However, to not pretend to be otherwise also meant that Blaise Zabini, _that_ Blaise Zabini whom she’d taken great care to ignore all the writing on the walls about, had been about to--well at least she wasn’t daft.

Hermione flipped to the other side of her bed snatching a book from the pile which usually sprouted there every school year. The clock by the door read twelve fourteen, and by all other accounts of the room was being observed as the sleeping hour. She was the only one having difficulty with that prospect.

She propped the book across her pillow and resolved to not entertain any more thoughts about a certain Slytherin tonight. These silly twirls in her stomach were going to make her queasy, and for all things good Hermione had better frets to mind, for example the classes she was bound to sleep though if she didn’t get some shut eye.

Well at least she wasn't daft.

  
  


_3 March_

Hermione stalled in the stairway of the Astronomy Tower. There against the back railing lounged the quiet subject to her recently developed cognitions.

This made three, her mind tallied silently; three classes, not including Arithmancy that morning, they suddenly shared in a week. She wondered if he realized this, and then when Ron called her name and he looked up, not surprised but just curious, she realized he must have. He was a people watcher. She was not.

Hermione smiled politely, which did bring surprise to his eyes.

She wondered how often he’d watched her walk up those stairs and she had not acknowledged him in return. She recalled his words from Valentine’s that told her no one else existed inside her head. She must have made him feel so at some point for him to say it.

Hermione frowned at her newfound guilt, and then at the implication of it. He wasn't her friend for her to worry so much over, so what should she feel guilty for?

“Blaise,” Hermione recognized as she passed. She knew he must have heard for the Slytherins near him stopped in their conversations to look at her.

“Is everything alright?” Harry asked when she made it to their unofficial place among the stars. Both him and Ron we're throwing dubious sneers to the snakes coiling near the back.

Hermione hummed acknowledging the nest full of angry glares that watched her save for one still curiously surprised. His gaze made the little light things flutter.

Perhaps she should talk to Ginny.

  
  


_4 March_

Hermione eyed the door dubiously as she approached. If it had a face it would be grinning, she thought.

The braver part of her said to just go in and get it over with; the person inside wouldn't judge her any worse than her own head had been doing. It was the other voice at the back that held a rather compelling argument against. Keep that box closed, it said, don’t tempt out what may lay inside.

“Are you busy?” Hermione knocked peaking past the door into Ginny's room.

The younger girl waved a hand her attention full on the quidditch tabloid under her nose. “What's up?”

Hermione felt a sudden distinction to Parvati and Lavender whose benign conversations always came across as prosaic at best. The goings on in others’ lives lacked practical appeal, she thought, much less divulging such information. Yet here she was seeking out just that. She must be losing her mind.

Hermione shut the door and turned to her friend. Ginny turned the page.

“I think you're right,” she rushed, her fingers plucking the pilling on her jumper.

Ginny snorted. “Of course I'm right. What about this time?”

“Zabini.”

Hermione frowned at how quickly the younger girl grabbed the subject; it couldn't possibly be considered healthy. Red hair whipped in a flash as Ginny dropped her tabloid in exchange for the edge of her bed. “Spill.”

Yes, thought Hermione, completely impractical.

  
  


_5 March_

Oh for heaven’s sake.

Hermione huffed irritably at the shelf upon learning that even here it seemed, in her self proclaimed sanctuary, she could still be haunted by distraction.

Blaise sat at the alcove in the far end, head bent studiously and scribbling over his parchment.

He never rushed, she thought, watching the slick feather drawl in fanciful swirls. It made his writing neat, even if a bit lazy in the way the lightest lines appeared between his words. She remembered this from the notes he'd given her in the past.

A hand, whether conscious or not, pulled the Windsor against his throat, shoulders rolling as he loosened the tie. It returned once more for the button.

Hermione huffed again this time against her new spurred fascinations in all things him; for example, the way he fiddled in class. She'd wondered that morning if he ever could sit still. He shuffled, tapped, rocked, drew, flicked page corners with nimble fingers. He was very distracting in that sort of way that made her curious when she should have been paying attention.

In all these movements Blaise somehow managed to attain notes while Hermione hadn't. He teasingly pointed it out to her at the end of their lesson.

She remembered his notes were always so detailed and very easy to follow, and thought how could that be if he was so distracting?

She almost said as much. Almost, but then caught herself and merely shook her head. He'd frowned, a hint of frustration to his eyes that hid rather well, and then he left. He had not said goodbye.

Hermione wondered why she'd jumped off that desk. Other than the obvious reasons, of course. Like fear. Namely the one called Harry and Ron.

Even Ginny last night had cautioned against them catching wind, in between pruriences and jeers towards the what ifs; their reactions would be catastrophic.

Perhaps not catastrophic, but it wouldn't be good. Hermione could just imagine Ron's voice wondering tactlessly, “but what could he see in you?”

She also wondered the same.

Hermione held no allusions to the fact that she was bossy, mildly prudish, and most certainly a know it all, traits Ginny so lovingly pointed out. She preferred books to people to a degree that some faulted her for, and rarely stopped to think about how others felt before showing them up or proving them wrong.

She did not mind these things, and in fact prided them like trophies to be shown off with a grin. Still, they were not usually points of endearment, and so why he would fancy her despite them, nevermind her blood or house or any of the usual contenders, was as absurd a knot she could not undo much like the Windsor around his neck.

Hermione's cheeks burned as suddenly her mind dallied back towards last night’s _what ifs_. What if she hadn’t jumped? What if she’d stayed? What if those lips, caught now between his teeth as he read over his work, had been hers to be sucked at and nipped and teased?

“Granger.”

Hermione jumped gripping her chest to keep her heart in place. A smile greeted her from behind, long and lanky like it's owner.

“What do you want, Nott?” she clipped with more bite than necessary. She resumed her initial task among the shelves.

Theo smirked finding the place her gaze had previously drawn to.

“You're drooling,” he lulled, laughing at her surly response. “Should I call him over for you?”

Hermione snatched at her desired text. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Theo glanced her over. “Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you.”

His mouth opened in a way that used to be cruel but now had an air of playfulness to it. Not a friend, but friendly. A head popped up then, curious eyes frowning between the two bodies loitered in the aisle.

Theo regarded his house mate before returning to Hermione with a cunning wink. “Oi, Zabini! I think Granger's trying--”

Hermione bristled, finding words that made even the boy in front of her pink before quickly leaving the library.

“What was that about?” Blaise asked when his friend returned to their shared desk.

Theo merely smiled. “Nothing. I just learned a secret.”

  
  


_7 March_

Blaise slapped the cards into the ground, a thrill to the moment as those still in hand began to smoke. Three left and Theo up two, he’d very likely win this round and the contraband flask they were playing for.

“Who is that?”

“Poor form, mate,” Blaise laughed, thinking the other trying to steal time by distracting him, that is, until another voice cut over the hall.

“Here you are!” exclaimed Ginny through the darkness. Both Slytherins looked with similar frowns as the young witch strode up in a feisty haste. She scowled between the two. “I thought you were supposed to be monitoring the halls, not playing lousy games of exploding snap.”

Her words were punctuated with a loud pop and hiss, and both Theo and Blaise jumped as the circle of cards exploded between them.

Ginny arched a brow judgmentally. “Bit high-strung?”

Theo responded first, rubbing singed fingertips against his thighs as he took to his feet. He glowered a whole head taller down at her. “Now that you mention it, isn't it past your bedtime? I wonder what Umbridge would say to that.”

Ginny raked over him, unimpressed. “I wonder why you think I care. Then I remember you're not worth wasting any thoughts on.” She turned her attention on Blaise. “I need to talk to you.”

Blaise frowned deeply. “About?”

Ginny looked as though he were the most moronic thing she'd ever laid eyes on, and smarted, “The weather,” before stomping off into the darkness. She turned with a raised a hand as if silently berating him for not following.

“That's Weasley’s sister?” Theo asked disbelievingly.

Blaise frowned. “Give me a minute.”

He approached the young Gryffindor carefully, a horrible trepidation saying he were walking into a trap. His hands slipped into his pockets in a leisurely farce that in actuality felt for his wand. He did not think Ginny Weasley would attack him unarmed, but he also didn't put it past her to not attack him at all. It was a wise enough assumption when he spotted her own carved instrument jutting out from her folded arms.

“Weaslette?”

“What’s going on with you and Hermione?” Ginny demanded, sparing no time for pleasantries.

Blaise assessed her thoughtfully. “Does she know you’re here?”

“Answer my question.”

“I don’t think she’d appreciate you snooping around on her.”

“I didn't realize you knew her so well.”

“I’d like to.”

Blaise nearly kicked himself for such a telling remark, fearing for a moment when her wand twitched that he really would be resorting to magic. But then Ginny frowned uncertainly. He stared a moment, deciphering that questioning look, before deciding on something very un-Slytherin.

“I'd love the chance to get to know her better, but as far as I can tell she’s not interested,” he continued quietly dropping the mask. “So again I’ll ask, why are you here?”

“I’m here because I don’t trust you. Snake.” Blaise nodded feeling foolish until she added, “but I don’t think you need to worry about whether or not she’s interested.”

He tipped his head curiously. “Oh?”

“I’d be more concerned about what will happen to you if you so much as put one foot the wrong way.”

He stared wondering if the fire in her eyes was also hinting to the same things as her words. “I wouldn't dream of it,” he said with all the sincerity he possessed.

Ginny glared him up and down as though trying to cut him open with her eyes. The minute passed, and then she turned and left.

“Get back safely little girl,” Theo called, returning to his friend. “Lots of nasty things like to scurry around the dark.”

The roll of her eyes was clear as she smarted back, “This whole time you've been standing there and that's all you could come up with?”

Blaise bit back his grin.

  
  


_9 March_

“So?”

“So what?”

Ginny huffed at the intentional thickness of the girl occupying the other side of the couch. “So are you going to talk to Zabini or what?”

Hermione gasped, wild eyes dashing around the nearly empty common room.

“Keep your voice down!” she chastised to Ginny's roll of the eye. “Someone might hear you.”

“Like who, the walls?”

Hermione scowled at her minxy friend before picking up her essay. “I'm not.”

“Why not?”

The older girl returned to scratching at her parchment with an audible huff. “Weren't you the one harboring so many reasons against him not too long ago?”

Ginny gave an impatient shrug. “I was just looking out for you and your bleeding heart.”

Hermione shot her a glare finding the comment somehow jarred. “I see, and now we're throwing caution to the wind?”

“Well I’ve been thinking, and I realized he can't really help his parents, his upbringing, or his house.”

“Who has the bleeding heart again?”

“What can I say,” Ginny shrugged. “I'm a hopeless romantic. And everyone likes a good drama.”

Hermione let out a troubled laugh. “I'm glad my day to days are so entertaining for you.”

“But maybe you should try it,” the younger witch continued, fussing at Hermione’s look of contempt. “Just hear me out. I talked to him.”

That put the quill down.

“You did what?” Hermione hissed.

“Nothing you said,” Ginny defended. “I wanted to know his game, make sure it wasn't some ruse or practical joke, you know? His house isn't well known for their good character, after all.”

She shook her head looking utterly flabbergasted.

“But I think he's sincere.”

“Firstly,” Hermione snapped, tugging at her curls, “you had no right, and secondly I'm not questioning his sincerity.”

“Then what exactly are you questioning?”

Hermione frowned.

“Obviously do what you want, but I think you should go for it,” Ginny said pointedly. “You can always back out later. And if he botches you'll get to hex a Slytherin. I say its a win-win.”

With that, she patted Hermione's leg, picked up her broom, and left for quidditch practice.

  
  


_10 March_

Hermione furrowed at the unexpected figure nestled in her most favorite spot of the library chewing on dragon claws. The figure sneered.

“Can I help you, mudblood?”

“Why are you here?” she all but whined out loud failing completely at hiding her displeasure.

Hermione just wanted one bloody place with no distractions, suggestive looks, or broad hints to be bothered by. She just wanted to read to the point that every other thought would be drowned out of her head, most especially the silly ideas that kept training her stomach’s acrobat. She just wanted to prepare for her O.W.L.s. Of course Malfoy would be the one to muck that up.

He smirked cruelly. “Disappointed?”

Hermione scowled, clutching her bag tightly and making to storm out of her secret haven. A chair leg grinding against the ground made her look back.

“Sit down, Granger,” Draco drawled, leg retracting from where he had kicked the chair.

Hermione hesitated a moment, eying the flinty boy uncertainly before deciding that, if nothing else, at least arguing with him could be a close second to her books.

Draco smirked, picking up the box of dragon claws from where it had slipped to in his chair. He chomped on the sweets. “So who are you avoiding?”

Hermione bristled at the question. “No one,” she clipped.

“Right.”

“And you?”

“Why should I be avoiding anyone?”

Hermione shook her head. “I’ll assume your here for the books then?” she asked deliberately pulling out a nearby text on the history of telephones.

Draco shot her a stout glare. “Parkinson. Your turn, Granger.”

“My thoughts.”

He rolled his eyes. “What a yellow bellied answer.”

“Its the truth.”

“And does your truth involve my friend?”

Hermione flushed, fists tightening in her lap. Of course this was a bad idea. How could she have believed anything otherwise?

Draco tossed a few more claws into his mouth, and then unexpectedly held the box across to Hermione. He shook it at her frown.

“Aren’t you worried I’ll taint your sweets?” she said with all the loathe she could muster, though it still came out sounding more curious than anything.

Draco shrugged staring her down. After a moment she reached in and took a few.

“Thanks,” Hermione muttered uncertainly, watching him shuffle once more through his sweets.

“So what is going on between you two?” Draco said, tossing back another handful.

“Nothing.” He gave her a dry glare. “What do you care?”

“As I’ve said, he's my friend.”

“I didn't know you knew how to care about anyone but yourself.”

“There's a lot you don't know about me.”

“Like why you're hiding from your girlfriend instead of just facing her?”

His bright eyes darkened, and Hermione decided to sway the conversation to her hand.

“You shouldn't lead her on,” she pressed. “If you don't care for her anymore you should tell her. Just get it over with. It's not fair to drag things out unnecessarily.”

“I care. And it's none of your damn business, mudblood.”

“Does using that word make you feel better about yourself? If not then I should let you know I find its intention a bit worn out at this point.”

Draco smirked. “I can't stand you.”

Hermione gasped. “No. Well, I'm just beside myself.” She reached across deliberately taking more of his candy.

Draco grinned making no effort to stop her. “I mean it Granger. I wish you'd never sat by us. You went and made everything complicated. What am I supposed to believe now?”

“You might try the truth.”

“And do you even know what that is?”

“I know what it's not.”

Draco snatched the claw she'd been about to pop into her mouth and threw it into his own. “So do I.”

Hermione blinked wide eyed as he stood, fixed his sleeves, and set the last of his dragon claws on her lap.

“I should thank you.”

“For what?”

“For turning him down,” he replied as he left. “Eventually he’ll get over you, everything will go back to normal, and we can hate you again without it all being so," he threw her a nasty smile, "complicated.”

Hermione frowned realizing as Draco said it that she didn’t want any of those things at all.

  


_11 March_

Blaise titled his head curiously at the realization that large brown eyes were staring him down across the hall. Hermione lifted her eyebrows, looked to the entrance doors, and then proceeded to excuse herself from the Gryffindor table. He looked back again as another pair of brown eyes, these framed between two red pillars, pinched angrily at him before jabbing to the door and back. The toast he'd been about to bite clattered to his plate.

“I'm--”

Blaise did not say any more to the curious looks from Theo and Daphne as he took his bag and left.

He spied Hermione slipping through the Great Doors, and again followed her outside.

“Hi.”

Blaise frowned at the breathy greeting that met him on the steps. “Hi,” he returned.

Hermione fidgeted with her bag. Her expression told of a conversation happening in her head that did not appear to be bringing her much ease.

“Was there something you needed--”

“Would you like to skip class?”

She looked nearly as surprised as he did at the words that toppled from her mouth.

“Er-what?”

“It was Ginny's idea,” Hermione said quickly.

Of all the things building in Blaise at the moment, laughter was the first to spill over. “Sorry,” he apologized to her frown. “It's just, do you skip class?”

“Never. Do you?”

He nodded. “Sometimes.”

“So would you like to now?”

“And what would we do?”

“I don't know,” Hermione answered, rolling a hand over the air. “Talk?”

“Get to know each other?”

She simply shrugged, color splashing her face.

Blaise stepped closer. “Are you going to run away again?” He could feel her breath ghost across his skin.

Bright eyes sparked back with too many thoughts to decipher, but instead of answering his question Hermione replied instead, “Either a yes or no, and please hurry. If I'm not actually skipping then I don't want to be late to class,” then added for good measure, “And I didn't run away.”

Blaise smirked, taking her hand. “As you say, Granger.”

The morning hours traipsed by on the heads of banters and shameless gazes. Blaise was very easy to talk to, Hermione realized, and easy to get caught up in. He was also very shrewd. He threw her intentional smiles and deliberate touches in between genuine talks and debates, and in all that time never so much as tried to make a move. To put it plainly, he was a tease.

By the time the noon sun hung high in the sky the two found themselves lounged under the trees near Black Lake.

Well, Hermione lounged; Blaise stood in the lake. Not deep in, just to his calves, though Hermione couldn't fathom how. It may have been March, but March in the Highlands still held a chill under the trees. Yet, there he was, sleeves to his elbows, trousers to his knees, and his robes and his tie and his bag abandoned against the boulder they hid behind.

“You're doing it wrong,” Blaise called tossing water playfully towards the shore. He was referring the fact that Hermione currently sat there with a Herbology textbook spread over her lap.

She gasped when stray drops caught her skin scowling out to the grinning boy.

“You realize the whole idea of skipping is to skip the work and do something enjoyable instead?” Blaise continued.

“I happen to find reading very enjoyable, thank you.”

“Then humor me.” He gave her one of his practiced looks.

Hermione passed her shiver off for the weather as she hugged her sides more tightly. “Just because you've killed your nerves doesn't mean I should brutalize mine,” she chastised.

“Oh it's not that cold.”

“And your teeth aren't really chattering either.” She watched wet hands yield glittery trails along his hair flushing when that wicked look caught her staring.

“Come in, Hermione. I’ll keep you warm.” 

Hermione returned to her book, and the surly boy huffed returning to the shore.

“You Gryffindors are a bunch of pansies,” he sighed dropping gracelessly beside her. She ignored the heat from where his leg brushed hers.

“Us Gryffindors prefer not to catch a cold, thanks.”

“Are you sure?” Blaise ribbed, leaning towards her. “Its been my experience Gryffindors prefer to run from the things that scare them.”

Hermione miffed, swotting towards his arm, but he was much faster. Blaise caught her hand continuing over until their faces nearly met. She could feel the heat from his smile, and shivered all over again.

His eyes dipped to her mouth and back, a mischief there that appeared to be trying very hard to behave.

“I do wonder where that whole notion of courage even came from,” Blaise continued, his thumb playing against her palm distractingly. “I've never seen it. Quite the opposite in fact, especially from you.” He grinned puckishly, each puff of his words purposefully tormenting  her lips. “No offense, of course, but its become somewhat of the expect--”

Hermione crushed against his mouth for no reason more than to make him shut up.

She felt him smirk, and then he took over the exchange. A hand tugged her hair, pulling her closer when her body made to retreat. The other steadied them against the ground as he pressed in, the heat of his chest molding against hers. He hummed approvingly, a delectable buzz which racketed her lips.

The little things became big things easing out the knots he'd built in her stomach all morning, and in place laid new sensations with his warm mouth and pleading tongue, and for the first time in Hermione's life she actually stopped thinking.

“Took you long enough,” Blaise muttered against her lips, the last word choking as Hermione took the opportunity to deepen their kiss.


End file.
